That summer, the sound of cicadas filled the entire corridor, and the wind blowing in from the window brought with it the smell of sun-drenched plastic from the playground.
You turned around inadvertently, and I was lying on the table sleeping, my eyelashes were drawn into a circle of gold by the sunlight. At that moment, the cicadas chirping outside the window seemed to suddenly become quiet for a moment.
After school, you said they were waiting for you in the school woods. They thought you were trying to block me, so they all started shouting and saying that they had a good show to watch, which caused a misunderstanding, and our love story was secretly buried. Original work: Pear Shangqing
Concept: There is a writer's dream and a painter's dream. If you can't be someone's painter, then you can be a writer for the public.