Yan Zhen fell in love with someone on a sunny day many years ago.
The alley was steaming with steam, and the wild cat's whine was as thin as a gossamer. The crisp sound of the mahjong tiles clashing upstairs was intertwined with the low hum of the air conditioner's outdoor unit.
Suddenly, the ringing of a bicycle bell passed through the hall, clear and bright, and lifted her up steadily.
The boy's voice was like April stream flowing over the moss, carrying the first coolness and vitality.
There are always a few people on the first bus in the morning. The bus moves slowly and leisurely. Yan Zhen tries his best to remember one person during the long one-way trip.
She remembered the light cyan veins under his fair skin under the sun; she remembered the looming mole on his collarbone; she remembered his favorite grapefruit-flavored soda, and the path of the melted water droplets as they slid down his fingertips; she remembered his voice and his kindness.
When the sycamore leaves rustled, she watched him being surrounded by his friends and walking away. His back gradually disappeared among the mottled shadows of the trees, and the hem of his school uniform was gently lifted by the wind.
She watched him walk further away, burying his thoughts in the repeated passes.
Sheng Sheng's life is like a railroad track that goes straight forward, moving forward without stopping.
I also thought I couldn't stop.
He worked hard to smooth out all the roads, just like many years ago, until one day, among those deep and shallow footprints, he found a consistent footprint.
When he looked into her starry eyes, he suddenly heard the sound of snow melting in his heart.
Walking alone through the long years of intertwined love and pain, the bravest one is actually myself.
A story about two somewhat powerful people.
(The pace of this article is slow. The author also just wants to write a story about growing up.)
Intention: I am your best audience