Summer is peeled away from life bit by bit, and the sycamore leaves slowly wither with time. Where should we buy tickets for those passing youth...
"Xia Ye, I'm leaving, and maybe I won't come back. Will you be reluctant to leave me?"
Maybe the summer has really left, and the birds have begun to fly south, leaving behind a trail of loneliness. Birds, are you lonelier than me, or am I sadder than you... I recall those past memories, and for a moment when you said you were leaving, I suddenly... I can't remember anything..." Wutong, camphor, picture album, sunset, your beautiful profile...