If your life was condensed into seven days, what would you do? If you could only record seven stories in a diary, which ones would you keep? Life is as brilliant as summer flowers, and death is as quiet and beautiful as autumn leaves. When the parasol trees in late autumn bear the pain of years, are you still willing to listen to the sounds of autumn on a cold night? If time rolls around again and I still have to endure the pain of broken bones and all kinds of tastes, I will still choose to sit with you under the sycamore tree, listen to a story, make a wish, and wait for the years to be better and be intoxicated by the scenery for the rest of my life. As long as you are there, everything is false. Just please, don't forget the first time we met.