I guessed the beginning of this story, and I dedicated everything God gave me to you, but I failed to predict the ending of this story. The boy I fell in love with at the age of seventeen is just a story about the age of seventeen.
Everything is so unoriginal, almost the same, so long and the youth is gone suddenly. Summer was once grand, there was a hot breeze at dusk, sitting on the back of a motorcycle, who was singing, let youth blow your long hair, and let it lead your dreams. Time is like an arrow leaving the string, straight and fast, let's just do this, okay? Until you grow old and die, you will never pay it back, okay? I already know that they are all bad. Life is short, so short that you can feel old age creeping onto your face as soon as you close your eyes, but it is so long, so long that every minute and every second there is an innocent smiling face. We all want a trip that we can just go. Youth is so crazy. If we don't act willfully, we will have no chance. However, every inch of this young and frivolous dream and absurd and unruly thoughts erodes me, making me feel how ridiculous I am.
But if this is life, what can we do?