Library

In June in the south of the Yangtze River, as soon as the plum rain begins, the rain begins in a hurry and doesn't stop for a moment. I stood under the dripping eaves, watching Qingchen strode forward into the misty rain, and then walked into the end that I couldn't see. My eyes were blurry with tears and even more hazy. Later I thought. Qingchen and I first met in the mist and rain, and then parted ways in the mist and rain. Does this count as perfection in a certain sense? I think so. Later. In the long years. I have many unsent letters and unsaid love words that no one can listen to. I also have a lover who I can't speak of. "The morning rain and light dust in Weicheng". In the end, it didn't work out.