The chirping of cicadas tears apart the midsummer, and the hot wind carries the sycamore catkins across the corridor.
Two youth trajectories that were originally parallel suddenly intersected in this hot summer.
It's the fingertips quietly hooked under the desk,
It's the tacit waiting at the intersection after school,
It's half a piece of ice soda shared during evening self-study.
It's the tenderness of looking at each other alone in the crowd.
The young man's thoughts are hidden in the chirping of cicadas and the evening breeze,
There is no need to say it, there is a tacit understanding.
Midsummer has arrived, it's a good time to meet each other,
Since then, the years have been long, and there are people walking side by side.
Intention: to meet