We Will All Die in Winter

I hope that my stories are always full of profound meaning, but it is difficult for me to add anything to this story, because this story tells about my youth, which is not so passionate and wanton, and April is not always sunny and warm. This is a story about people meeting me by chance when they passed by me, and then I intentionally regarded it as a story of salvation - against the background of the palest moonlight, every shadow revealed was unintentional, but in that background, it seemed that countless images were displayed - her hands crossed accidentally, the shadow fell in my eyes, and then there were countless white doves in my eyes that wanted to fly out. (The protagonist of the story is a person with very low self-esteem. Some of his thoughts and behaviors may seem strange in reality. Please understand. My storytelling ability is average, so please forgive me.)