One afternoon before we parted, Xu Yingyi sat under the banyan tree and read. Looking up is thick green, looking down is budding green, and she melts into the brown and black tree trunks, letting the wind cut off her connection with the world. I originally wanted to call her, but the words were stuck in my throat and I couldn't utter a single word.
Is futile repetition useful? I didn't know, so I left.
The background of the story is decades ago. It is very informal and written casually.
Short stories are free, welcome to read^_^
Zhou Youzhi×Xu Yingyi (no meaning before or after)
First person. Short Memoirs.
Purpose: Love and Dreams