The chalk dust in front of the blackboard is spinning and flying in the air, tiny particles of dust fall on the ground, the fan in the classroom is blowing swayingly, who is carelessly writing deep and shallow traces of whose name in the book?
Outside the classroom, the boys were sweating like rain playing basketball, and the girls were cheering and cheering.
They are all the wanton publicity of youth. What a simple and beautiful time.
I cannot grow up step by step and become what you like. In the desolation of the years, I would rather never know you. Maybe in this way, even if my life is dull, I will not leave so many scabs in my heart. I will still be full of scars and riddled with holes. Will you feel sorry for me like this?
They are all the scars left by youth. What a passionate pursuit without hesitation.
During the lengthy walk to the door of the classroom, everything in the field of vision was blurry, except for your figure which was extremely clear. When I look back at you, it seems that my life has ended.
They are all images depicting the traces of youth, with clear and vague imprints, tenderly retaining the emotions at that time.
Boys and girls are running in the sun, ignoring the passage of time...
Intention: