Mine, must be mine.

I am sure to grasp the slightest detail, so that all kinds of dazzling and chaotic lawless mystery anatomy, sufficient, like the protagonist of a suspense drama.

If you lose it, you may not have it.

There was another fresh life in the world, and I didn't think I should have written it like this, but I couldn't help but control my thoughts. She has a vague memory, she left with nothing, she was seriously ill and howled in pain every night, but in the end she was indifferent. Maybe someone is sober and can finally be clean at night, but I can't guess how deep the city is hidden on the face that pretends to be very sad on the surface.

It's really cold.

The winter wind carries my occasional thoughts to drift far away.

There was an inexplicable liquid flowing in the night.

I think I'll probably know what that is.

1

"I've heard that handsome boys have scribbled handwriting," you comforted me at the time.

The evening breeze flows lonely water waves, carrying you, and then the ancient well returns to the original point without waves.

When you touch it with your hand, you touch each other's bitterness.

But I understood something when I heard a soft sob.

Everyone has a day of birth, old age, sickness and death.

No one can escape.

I silently listened to the sound of the maple leaves fading, and suddenly realized that the snowflakes seemed to have not been there for a long time.

If you have it, you have a chance to keep it.

You said.

2

I don't understand what it feels like for the light to fade, and I don't understand why I'm sinking more and more into the whirlpool of thoughts.

There's a special feeling called missing, you said to me.

Time carries away the childish wings, the interweaving of light and darkness, the blending of black and white, the alternation of midnight and dawn... All of them are surging and agitated in their minds.

The winter a few years ago was more heartwarming.

I tried to recall my childhood days of setting off firecrackers with a few friends, and then adding a few smoke bombs after the loud noise, and the white smoke seemed to make even the figure look ethereal, and the eternal smile of an innocent child under the snowy mountains.

And now, as the information age creeps in, becoming numb and apathetic, I define it as my own growth. At least now he was alone with incense by the locust tree, and the silence would silence the whole world. The silence was terrible.

I don't think I'll be able to go back to the way I used to be.

Yes, it's just that the cool breeze swished into the cold heart, and the cheeks were frosty.

"Sideburns are slightly frosty, what's the matter!" You laugh at me.

Whew, this icy winter.

3

Listen to the sea.

In the middle of summer that year, you dragged me to walk along the beach, to be honest, I didn't like to be exposed to the sun, but I still reluctantly smiled and agreed.

The sun and the sea reflect each other, and I look at you who are beaten by the waves in the water, and I refuse to step forward to hold on to the fragile memory.

Youth is always a pity.

Why do you say you want to make the narrative so short?

I meditated, because you don't understand, and that feeling is beyond words.

The scorching summer air makes the cicadas constantly complain about the vagaries of the weather, and they are still busy with all kinds of tutorial classes, and most of the summer is spent in air-conditioned classrooms.

You say, it's so hot in the shuttle.

Helpless, who called it did not have the window to be able to move.

4

Let everything be buried in the late autumn of parting.

I found myself unable to hold back my memories anymore, and time became a merciless knife that changed the way I thought about it.

People change.

What could be more heart-wrenching than parting?

When you're gone, the sky is gray.

It's late autumn again.

I walked aimlessly in the forest, I don't know how much time had passed by the maple leaves, and I picked up a piece with my face engraved on it, which was us a few years ago, when we were young, just because we were too innocent, and buried too many sentences that I have not had a chance to say now.

"Will you stay with me until I am old?"

"Maybe."

"But I want to keep you..."

"No wonder you're suffering from my side."

It's just that I'm too naïve and greedy.

When the flowers are lost, will they still be nostalgic for the colors of the past?

I thought, I will.

It turns out that people don't have to be permanently frozen in that moment.

It turned out that it was just a dream that I thought too much to realize.

It turns out that it is no longer you who accompany me when the fireworks are cool.

It turns out that what I have doesn't necessarily stay in the palm of my hand all the time.