Cross the river bank, cross the stream and die
Floating in Liu Yaer's laughter.
Blow old dreams.
Arouse deep attachment to hometown.
Familiar stone road
Flower umbrella in the mud
The sound of raindrops under the eaves.
The figure of children playing.
It seems like a lifetime ago.
Missing is a nostalgic song.
It's "Genv" sung by my mother in a low voice.
What she is holding is a cotton-padded coat.
It's steamed dumplings, steamed bread and flower rolls.
It is also a blessing for family reunion on New Year's Eve.
Missing is a new life after a painful experience.
Is my son's sweet smiling face when he was a baby.
This is what he does when he babbles.
Or his pride when he won the prize
What is drifting away is his increasingly tall figure.
What is more intense is the memory of his growth.
Missing is an argument when discussing life with my father.
That's his footprint on a country road with a medicine box on his back.
This is his concentration during the operation under the shadowless lamp.
At the moment when we were separated from him.
I can clearly see his smile looking back at heaven.
His inculcation lingers in my ears.
Missing is a kind of happiness.
In moonlight and dusk.
Just like the shadow follows the body-it is closely related to each other.