Mig

While he was busy, the light perfume on Lan Fei's body was still the warm smell of Soul. It's just that he has forgotten a lot about her, him, and him. It turns out that all that can and cannot be forgotten is just time. If you hold on tightly and cannot let go, it is only time. The old but new Lan's private residence still sits there, but the blue and black VOLVO has long been replaced by a black Ferrari. The shadows of the trees are lingering, and it seems that what is leaking is not the mottled sun, but the floating shadows of the past that are still unspeakable. His songs are no longer in my ears. In a daze, a piece of fragmented Chopin, like mourning, disintegrates and assimilates all the past complexities.