The wide streets are lined with shabby and quaint moss-covered courtyards, some of which are covered with dense green plants, which seem to sweep away some of the summer heat in a narrow shade, and make people feel a little cool.

The streets that were originally quiet and quiet, suddenly became lively tonight, and there were people coming and going all around, and it was destined to be a good night for them, and the diligent oil lamps made the night of tonight temporarily subside, and everywhere was full of light.

The chattering sound and the chaotic footsteps are endless, but it is really lively.

But it still has to be opened on the grand Apocalypse Day, but he is really overwhelmed by reality, thinking like this, he lowered his head and looked at the dazzling array of puppets in the shop, but after all, he just looked, and now he can't raise any desire to buy.

With a wry smile, he continued to be caught in the crowd, moving slowly, and the joyful atmosphere made him even more lonely.

In the end, he hid in the tavern, and although he still couldn't escape the noise, fortunately, he finally had something to do.

But the atmosphere in the tavern seemed to be even higher than outside, but Don Quixote was not affected in the slightest, but only asked for a few glasses of wine, and tasted the sorrow alone in the corner.

Or touching the scene, or comforting himself, or simply missing, but whatever the reason, Don Quixote did come up with a bunch of damn sentences yesterday to comfort his life that seemed to be dying, but obviously, that didn't work, did it?

People will always get used to it, get used to life, get used to companionship.

But habit is like a rope woven from a thread of thin threads, and he is like a traveler who climbs a mountain with a rope, he is used to climbing with weaving, and he is used to the companionship and peace of mind brought by the rope.

But the abrupt break of the rope may make him fall into the abyss, or it may make him give up climbing until he dies alone, or until the moment before the rope breaks, he still thinks it is candlelight, but when he really loses it, he suddenly realizes that it is the sun.

When the excitement had dissipated, and the sky was approaching dawn, a slightly drunken Don Quixote slowly paced out of the tavern.

He wasn't drunk, he relied on his growing drinking, but the loneliness he felt all over his body couldn't be erased.

Relying on his still sober mind, Don Quixote did not get lost and returned to the flower shop.

Gently opening the repaired wooden door, the cold air came from nowhere, but he just smiled, and walked straight to the bed, and pounced on it as if paralyzed.

But even with the blessing of drunkenness and haze, Don Quixote still tossed and turned and couldn't sleep.

He knew that he was about to reach his limit, but at this time, he couldn't let go of everything and rest.

Of course, he could say out loud that he was tired, but all he really needed was a warm embrace

The feeling of helplessness made him on the verge of collapse, but the warmth of the quilt handed to his body suddenly became very clear, stunned, he suddenly got up, and began to scan the objects that Anne Bell had purchased for him when she left, which was really comprehensive enough.

With a wry grin, Annebel's back, which seemed to have wept when she left, was once again reflected in Don Quixote's heart.

Slowly, slowly, he moved off the bed.

It was then that he suddenly remembered that the mother who had been behind her at all times gave her everything she could.

Suddenly, a thin parabola rose from the inky blue clouds, red and translucent, shining with golden light, like boiling molten slurry splashed on it, and finally, it turned into a huge arrow and continued to dive, and the dawn was like a flower blooming, or the water was scattered.

Along with it was the emaciated Don Quixote, who finally had the motivation to put in order again the messy hut that had been untidy since Annebel's departure.

Although this made him have to face it again, this sad place mixed with bits and pieces of memories with Keisha, although he couldn't suppress the sadness, but he had to overcome it, didn't it?

Because in this world, there are too many people who can't part with you, even if you are as humble as dust, but in their eyes, you are still the towering mountain.

Don Quixote, who had not done his work for a long time, felt unusually tired after only a little dusting of the hut, but the object of his most anger now should have been the cunning dealer who sold the defective goods.

If it weren't for the fact that the broom broke on its own in the middle of use, he would never have been so delicate.

But seriously, he should have removed the damn cabinet, not only was it useless, it was unusually obstructive of movement, and of course, he really didn't have much incentive to make a big move right now.

Although he was a little drowsy, he managed to finish the damn task in front of him, of course, only cleaning, but Don Quixote was finally able to sit down and rest for a while.

He had the idea of tidying up the messy things that he could see everywhere, but the empty stomach still made him decide to go out for a meal first, and then make a final decision.

After a slight tap on his sleepy brain, Don Quixote got up and walked out, ready to enjoy the morning silence, when he found that the lock that had been so faithfully on the lock was gone.

Don Quixote was about to complain, but his mind, which should have been down peacefully, suddenly remembered that he had taken the lock back to the house yesterday because he couldn't find a place because of the darkness.

Smiling helplessly, he turned back to the house and looked for the old broken lock that had disappeared, but before he could act, he was suddenly attracted by the windowsill next to the door.

Facing the sun, the ice cream flower that should have disappeared in the long river of time quietly bloomed, the petals like ice cream were bright and full, dazzling, and so beautiful and bright, noble and holy, trembling, fluttering, fragrant, just like her smiling face.

Don Quixote just stared at it so infatuatedly that he didn't even notice when this flower had written its own life in the corner.

Do you remember the bright smile in the morning light? Do you remember the long flowing blond hair? Do you remember the heroic posture on the battlefield? Do you remember the throbbing of the first heartbeat? Looking back, the spring and summer seasons passed in a flash.

Under the sunset, a lonely back beside the bleak north wind, slowly moving forward, a touch of gorgeous flowers on horseback, quietly blooming, reluctant to look back, he seems to be able to see, on the cliff in the distance, a touch of longing figure, gently sitting in the bright sea of flowers composed of ice flowers, quietly watching, the golden hair was constantly teased by the naughty north wind, so that she had to raise her hand, shallow pin the hair behind the ear, this, to her watchful back, send a warm smile.

Cold tears fell uncontrollably, but this time, he slowly turned his head and did not stop again.

Ice cream blossoms, silently accompanying.

- Keisha

The ice cream flowers withered and bloomed, but some people went with the wind like feathers.

—Don Quixote

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