The night is getting darker, and the school circle by the lake in the suburbs looks particularly lonely. The dim street lights on the lakeside slowly move along the shoreline towards the bright outlook in the distance. The lake is so big that the two sides cannot be connected. On the other side of the lake, lights have been installed on high-rise buildings, traffic is booming, neon lights are flashing, and the endless flow of car lights is like a river flowing quietly. The prosperity everywhere is incompatible with the emptiness here.
Eight years have passed. A group of people have never experienced the so-called black and gloomy youth, but we all have our own sourness. We have all grown up. We who were once arrogant and wild horses running wild have been destroyed by time. We are all busy, busy loving, and busy living.
But, look, I'm still here.