The cicadas kept chirping, and in the cool summer night, you gracefully walked down the stairs, carrying the world of mortals that I had never been close to, and drowned me. Years of secret love and accumulation suddenly disappeared after meeting again, becoming hot and bright. When fates are intertwined, is marriage the palace of love? Or the grave of love? Or did it never exist? Under the oppression of the disease, can I fight the enemy with you?
Under the misty rain, a handful of gardenias, with little ripples, will eventually fall silent...
As the book says, One Hundred Years of Solitude.
Intention: In a person's life, it seems that apart from the mission, all that is left is a hundred years of loneliness