That Year, High Summer Had No End and the Ginkgo Leaves Had Yet to Fall

This is a personal scrapbook that travels through time, belonging to me, a post-80s generation native who grew up in Wuhan, Jiangcheng. The story begins in the late 1990s, a year when the old and new intertwined, and a pure, awkward young love quietly took root. There were no complicated schemes, only the flustered rush of a racing heart, tentative words left unsaid, and those tiny yet unforgettable moments that time has gilded. Now, based on real experiences, I gather up the pearls scattered along the river of time and carefully string them together. This is not only a tender confession of a personal history, but also a belated, heartfelt tribute to a particular era, a unique city, and the youth that all of us must eventually lose, yet which never fades. Time flies. Looking back, the stirrings of first love, the confusion of growing up, and the traces left by a changing city have never truly gone away. I unseal those years long kept under lock and key, taking words as my boat and sailing upstream. This is in memory of the person who first taught me what it meant to “like” someone. It is a personal footnote to history, and an affectionate backward glance at the years gone by.