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The wind was very strong that year, blowing away many fallen leaves and many people. We struggled to get out of the quagmire, but there was no final winner. You and I both became representatives of regret in this story. I like to call you Orange, even though everything about you doesn't fit in with Orange, but this is the best adjective in our past. I am your mandarin orange, and the fallen leaves return to the north. You are my orange, and the fallen leaves return to the south. Dear Orange, this is our story and my letter to you. Maybe one day the wind is so strong that the two fallen leaves will meet again, or maybe one day the wind is so strong that the two fallen leaves return to the north and south again.