Wind, flowers, snow, moon Wind, flowers, snow, moon

Wind, flowers, snow, moon Wind, flowers, snow, moon

Wind, flowers, snow, moon Wind, flowers, snow, moon

"Like the wind, your letter." Momo blinked her big eyes and handed me the letter.

There was no signature on the letter, but I knew it must be from Zhang Minghao. Only he, now in his third year of college, still had an undiminished enthusiasm for writing letters, dragging me along so that I felt compelled to reply or else feel guilty. In his letters, his life was always colorful: playing ball, dancing, climbing mountains, swimming. However, I could never quite picture him being lively and energetic. In my memory, he was always awkward, modest, and monotonous.