It's late at night. The wind is blowing, and the news of your arrival is blowing. Is it still the smiling face full of youth from decades ago?Is it still that affectionate gaze?That full noon, the moonlight that night loved seemed to be held in the hand.
You're here, with the poems I wrote. Page by page, line by line, is so complete, preserving the bits and pieces of the past. Every time you turn a page, it is like turning the moonlight under your feet, and turning the most moving plot in a romance movie.
Holding your hand, but also bringing out those people or things, and bringing out the memories that two people love deeply. The sound of the piano you played, the songs you sang, all of them were planted on a piece of paper, and a red dress that danced grew out of your hand.
Although we can't be husband and wife in this life, we can be best friends and celebrities, and turn decades of parting and longing into a hearty happiness. However, we stopped at **, no one dared to cross the thunder pool, and love was blocked by the red line.
You have come and gone, like a cloud drifting through the sky. The poems you brought with you took away again, and at the same time, you also took away the lines of good memories ......