The graffiti on the Arc de Triomphe begins with a slow and quiet description. Those small and rough stories, every word, every sentence, every note, and every punctuation mark, represent an eternal past. Fresh people and familiar things gradually enriched themselves into beautiful legends as the sand in the hourglass seeped down. Those stories are so similar to us in our youth, and they meet the tiny dust in our memories unexpectedly. Therefore, they easily caught us and made us surrender. It's like we always say goodbye to the past, which seems to have become a habit, but in fact we fail every time. We never really say goodbye to them, because they will always hide in a piece of moist soil in our hearts, nourishing, spreading, and then gradually taking root.
The story I want to tell is a story that everyone may have experienced to some extent. In that distant youthful season, at a place called the Arc de Triomphe, we used our time and years to compose chapters of moving melodies. When we look back in the future, we will feel that it is a little bitter and a little sweet, like pieces of sweet but not greasy vanilla chocolate, with the most unique and eternal flavor in the world. In those years, we met someone, missed someone, abandoned someone, stumbled, confused, regretted, regretted, and were happy, and then we went our separate ways in the blink of an eye. Looking back many years later, I seem to still remember the smell of sweat and grass on the playground.
Conception: