Qidian library
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Grandfather's Prose Poems
Ever since my grandfather sank into the loess, my pen has been rusty. For four years, I practiced a cowardly skill: how not to miss. I'm afraid that once the floodgates of memory are opened, guilt will take precedence over warmth. As a result, his figure, year after year of alienation, helplessly faded and became thinner, dissipating like morning mist. What I can hold now are only a few hard, glowing fragments of memory. In one fragment, there was his smile lying on the old wooden window frame i
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Landscape Travel
Come to China Literature's website to read more of my works!
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