"I hate that the breeze blows on my face but doesn't linger around me. I hate that the bright moon shines on my face and doesn't want to enter my soul."
In the summer when the cicadas are noisy, the girl hides her heartbeat in the pages of books and the wind.
His tenderness and subtlety, her fondness and carefulness, and caring in both directions, eventually drifted away in time.
Intention: A young man's will is difficult to calm down
