Very Happy

He has lived for more than eight hundred years, and has seen cities collapse and rivers dry up, but he cannot piece together the features of his old friend. At the archaeological site, a thousand-year-old coffin was pried open. In the yellowed private book, there is no family, country or world, only an old friend who has been talking about a three-year drinking date - spring is approaching the third watch, autumn is sitting alone at dawn, and winter is afraid of causing trouble. The ink on the last page is skewed: "I'm so happy. Gein can finally wait no longer." Standing between the flashlight and the ginkgo leaves, the Immortal suddenly remembered the begonia petals that were carefully tucked into the pages of the book. He remembered the man's fear of thunder, the trick of bursting the tenderloin with coriander, and the crooked poem on the fan bone, word for word. But the speaker's face turned into a dense mass of ink, and no matter how hard he concentrated, he could not gather his outline. It turns out that the cruelest thing is not that we are separated by life and death, but that I remember all the past events but forget your appearance.