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Winter is very cold, and when the snowflakes fall, they just fall on the top of people's hair, but the hands with frostbite are really ugly. What was buried that winter was like the atmosphere of silence between them, the loneliness that lingered day and night, and the lament that often lingered in their ears. It's so oppressive that you can't even breathe, let alone let go of the shackles of your origin. They are the two most inconspicuous shadows in the same school. We would walk side by side in the empty alleys after school, sit silently in the evening breeze on the rooftop, share half a piece of cold bread, and wipe away the tears that the other party dared not speak out. There is no redemption, no light, no sudden tenderness. There were only two little bitter gourds who had rotted in their youth, holding on to each other's pain and barely holding on, so as not to sink together. They, who had never been treated kindly by the world, clung to each other in the vast sea of ​​people and swallowed their bitter tears.