Poetic Call

About This Novel

Youth, hovering on the edge of maturity. A pair of wings rub against the boundary of maturity, and ruthless maturity swallows flames. Who gets through smoothly, and who's wings are burned, falling into endless depravity, and being submerged in the bottomless sea of ​​gray. Once upon a time, each of our left hands held each other's right hand tightly, and we just had fun on campus boldly; once, we held each other's backs, just back to back, dreaming about the future. I once believed that even if our shadows were framed in elementary school graduation photos, everyone would break out of the box and warm each other's memories with our true bodies.

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