Before the microphone on stage stood a young woman with a guitar on her back, around twenty years old, dressed in a black chiffon blouse, black denim shorts, and black stockings. The whole look was simple and clean, not at all coquettish.
Upon a closer look at her face, one would get a sense of purity and transcendence, as if it matched the serene and elegant environment of the bar.
Her voice was crisp and melodious, plucking at heartstrings, with a slightly plaintive tone, deeply immersing those who listened.
One clear song, half a glass of cloudy wine, drinking while quietly listening to this pleasant voice, seemed to calm the restless heart completely.
One firework show, half a lifetime of love and resentment, along the way, whether love or hate, everything seemed like fireworks, the past brilliance left nothing but ashes in the end.
