The woman ended the minor with a euphemistic transposition, "Is it good?" ”

"Honestly?" I asked, holding my mug and tilting my head. Pen % fun % Pavilion www.biquge.info

"Haha, I know, I know, it's not going to be good, how can a messy word with a messy tune be good..."

"Didn't you really love him? Even if you like it. ”

I asked.

"No, how could I fall in love with a liar."

"So why wait?"

"I just don't want this place to be empty, and I don't want others to spoil this place."

"And what about what you miss?"

"Maybe it's just as you said, because you can't get it, and everyone knows that what you can't get is the best." The woman said indifferently, took the mug in my hand, and brought it to the back operation room with hers, and when she came out, there was a gray coat on the bent left forearm. "It's getting late, and the rain is light."

"That's so polite, just lend me an umbrella." I politely declined.

"Since you can't wait, why don't you throw away all your thoughts and do me a favor?"

"Help you throw it away?" I took my coat and hung it on my left forearm.

"I hope you can cherish it."

"A thing that its original owner didn't take away, and you don't want it, but you expect an unrelated person to cherish it." I quipped.

"You listened to my story."

"I traded it for coffee." I spread my hands and carefully bent my forearms to keep my coat from slipping down.

"I forgot, did you say that?" The woman looked at me innocently. "You know, one of women's nirvana is quite unreasonable."

"Okay, I agreed, can you lend me an umbrella?" I smiled.

"It's over there, can you take it yourself?" The woman sat behind the counter and smiled like a little fox.

"This rose is blooming so well." I carefully stepped in the gap between the blooming and unblooming flowers, and took the long black umbrella hanging from the flower stand.

"Yes, he said that every life deserves respect because they never have the opportunity to choose themselves when they come. This is especially true of plants, which are even inanimate in the eyes of many people, so every time he cuts them, he will say a word of mourning. Oh, mourning, how can they understand, rather than this, it is better to cut them off when they are at their most beautiful, so that their lives stay at the most beautiful moment..."The more the woman speaks, the quieter her voice becomes, the more she speaks, the deeper her thoughts become, so deep that she doesn't know my departure, and the little ones can't hear my farewell.

The rain did lighten, but it still gathered on the umbrella and slid down one by one.

"How's it going, are you comfortable?" I asked the man next to me.

"I only had time to write half of that poem." The man's voice was low, tired.

"Which one, ahhhh

"It's a mess, isn't it?"

I shrugged my shoulders noncommittally and handed my coat over, and he obediently draped it over himself, and the rain still didn't fall on him.

"Do you regret it?" I asked.

"I don't regret it, it's just that I haven't had time to make a bouquet for her when the roses are blooming."

"A branch of flowers and a sentence of mourning, isn't it that you want to send a hand of mourning at someone's wedding, you are really vicious." I laughed.

"Perhaps, but in love, who is not a vicious Cinderella?"