Belated Return

When she was seven years old, she and I buried a time capsule under the ginkgo tree. When I was eighteen years old, in the corridor of university, a strange girl said something that gave me a splitting headache: "You always say that ginkgo leaves are like small fans." At the age of twenty-eight, the equipment in the memory clinic finally turned on the green light. I frantically inquired about her whereabouts, but received the news that she had just accepted someone else's confession. At the funeral, I touched her cold ring finger: "Is it too late to say I love you now?" Her soul watches day and night by the Naihe Bridge. The judge flipped through the book of life and death and sneered: "She is waiting for a man in a white suit, not you." ——It turns out that what we missed was not just this journey in the human world.