Who is running in the wind? Who dyed the spring water of that lake into the one I miss? Who writes love in the dark? Frozen with sincere words, in the cold rainy night, who locked his brow and suddenly smiled happily. I know how the glass passes through the sun because of its unreserved dedication, and I also know why the sun can't get into the mirror because it has a disguise. Please turn around after the sunshine. At that moment, the lake blown by the wind was so holy at night that raindrops were attracted by it. I know the covers are waking up and trying their best to explain this emotion.