[This article is a tribute to us who grew up together]
He picked up the pen but stopped,
Suddenly awakened,
That period of youth is actually the deep longing buried in my barren words.
The wind picks up again in June,
I'm probably the only one trapped in memories.
Reader comments
The cicadas chirped louder that summer than any other year, and the fingers outside the classroom window grew wildly, but they couldn't resist the scorching sun. Young friends are the collectors of our youth. Thank you for recording our passionate and wanton youth.
The cicadas chirped louder that summer than any other year, and the fingers outside the classroom window grew wildly, but they couldn't resist the scorching sun. Young friends are the collectors of our youth. Thank you for recording our passionate and wanton youth.