The last letter

Follow-up here~

I haven't, hugging his wound yet...

The sun was galloping away, and it had been more than Three months since I received his first letter, and I often woke up in the middle of the night to find that the moon was hanging in the air, emitting light shallowly in the air, and the shape of a small crescent moon suddenly pierced the bottom of my heart, and I was sad. So I began to sort out his clothes one by one, plain white, ivory, turquoise, scarlet, mr. never liked too many too colorful clothes, I paid close attention.

Perhaps, I will never receive his letter again.

The tip of the needle was stuck in the finger, a small amount of blood came out, and the fine pain spread little by little. I was stunned, I didn't know the words for a while, but my heart was beating in a panic, irregular, full of worry.

How many years ago the teenagers arbitrarily got on the horse, and many years later, the generals returned from decadence. I heard that the gates of the border were breached. I heard that thieves wantonly burned and looted. Heard...... No one has ever said my husband. My sir, what happened to him?

After a few days of worry, I heard that there was a masked man at the border to help. The city, it is considered to be saved.

But my husband, where the hell is he. I didn't find any of his breath anywhere, like a flower waiter who smelled the fragrance of flowers in the night, a little smell enough to pull to the end, and the little bit of full manuscript paper told the whole story of whose parting hatred.

The gentleman and I set up the autumn wind, and the gentleman looked for the fruit with me. Sir once said that the lotus flowers in the pavilion have a girlish atmosphere on the surface of the water, and many years ago, Mr. Li was still the bright teenager, catching a dead leaf in the autumn wind with me, running with me under the mighty rain, discussing poetry books with me, and the meaning of Mr. How the word husband can be summarized.

The dew-stained lilac flowers pressed against a thin letter, not gilded, not ornate, simple and with some rhyme, it was a letter from Mr. Mister.

"See the letter as it is."

There were no soft words, no smell of sunshine, it was the despair and pain washed away by the heavy rain, and it was incomprehensible confusion and distress. I haven't woken up from a dream yet.

"No need to wait for me, the white hair is already green when I return."

Sir, how can I...

I haven't, hugging your wounds yet.