
I am indeed a nostalgic person. I often look back, but I cannot go back. I once missed my white moonlight, but then I took the wrong path. There was no more romance and flowers in my life, only endless noisy firewood, rice, oil and salt. Later, I even missed it. I don’t have anyone I like, and I don’t know who I’m thinking of when I’m in a daze?
The wind in the Nanshan Mountains scattered the grain piles, and the water in the North Sea submerged the tombstones. You should look back at me carefully. I am a bit like before. After all, my noisy temper has been polished into the taciturnity I am now.