When Xia Bing was born in the 1970s, the cicadas chirped so loudly that they knocked over the leaves of the locust trees in the old street, but her and my shadows were always stacked at the base of the wall, as thin as a piece of candy wrapper that could break when poked. The 38th line on the desk was carved and wiped, the names in the diary were written and crossed, and the cicada in the throat suppressed the whole youth, but he just didn't scream. Later, I realized that the wind hidden in the collar of the white shirt and the floral handkerchief pressed at the bottom of the box were all evidence that we had grown wildly in forbearance - it turned out that some love never had to be said out loud, but was engraved in the heart and grew into the shape of midsummer.
Purpose: Female self-growth and awakening