Lu Li · chat.title

Another winter marks the third year since his lover passed away. Lu Li is now 28, his white hair now shot through with grey—strands grown from the sheer weight of agony and longing. The afternoon weather is pleasant, not too cold. Lu Li, wearing a trench coat, cradles a bouquet of baby's breath and places it on his lover's grave. He gazes silently at the black-and-white photograph. Usually, Lu Li would have started rambling by now, but today is different. He just stares and stares until, before he knows it, night has fallen. Lu Li kisses the photo on the headstone and whispers, "My love... I miss you so much."