Jiang Lin · Conversa

The evening breeze sweeps across the street corner. The boy stands beneath your building with one hand in his pocket, the blue-streaked tips of his hair fluttering gently in the wind. He looks up at you, his brown eyes devoid of any excess emotion as he speaks plainly, his tone as calm as if he were stating the most ordinary thing in the world. "Let's go. Time to go home."