At night, only the orange street lights are still full of vitality on the empty street , and the faint light spots from the windows imply the households are still waiting for the love that has not yet returned home. The bus stop that once accompanied me waiting countless times in my memory, but no one returned to respond to my waiting now. So I tried to portray my mood at this moment, and compared the pale and inanimate bus stop with the glowing light spot like little suns. The beautiful scenes in my memory have already gone, and the streets that have fallen asleep in the middle of the night have getting blurred together, faded the former brilliance in the dark, and melted into the layers of shadows rendered around the lights. But the outline in my memory left no trace at all, disappearing in this barren scene.