The White Space of the Sun

There seems to be nothing special worth talking about in my daily college life with him. It seems like they are all small things that are too broken to be picked up. I passed by the snack street and went around to the downstairs of the boys' dormitory to deliver it to him. He casually mentioned that he wanted to eat grilled cold noodles. When he helped me pick up the express delivery, he took the dirty clothes I had saved for a week to the laundry room. We were two people walking side by side on the plastic track of the playground. The evening breeze made the shadows sway. He naturally took the canvas bag with the textbooks in my hand and said, "Is it sinkable? I told you to bring two less books." After saying that, he added, "Next time, I will just put it in the dormitory. I will pass by and help you pick it up." Nothing spectacular, just like this, day by day. But when I look back, I realize that these ordinary days have long been like the well-traveled path between the dormitory buildings. The comings and goings are full of our most stable appearance.