In the dark school days, the boring life of reading books, I met the person I have been dreaming about, different family backgrounds, different personalities, but the same dreams and persistence. It's just that I don't know how many flowers fall in my dreams. There is no reason for love to come or go. You love it. He attracts all the attention, and I am small and cowardly in love with him, so I can only like him secretly, but I am unwillingly pushed to do some ridiculous and heartbreaking things, just to win the other person's attention, recognition, and eyes. Time is the best killer, making you unable to guard against being swallowed up, along with that sad love, but the hands of time are still gentle. When the years grow old and things change, you will still suddenly think of the person who made you lose yourself on a certain day, a certain season, a certain moment, those unbearable, those nostalgia, those years of indigestible pain and love seem to become beautiful and special with the hands of time. When we were young and frivolous, we discovered how rare and precious this darkness is to us as adults after we were far away from the black ivory castle. However, neither love nor time can return to that time. After all, we can only be passers-by in each other's lives. But in many dreams, I still dream of that young and handsome boy, that boy who walks in goose steps, has a tall posture, and runs hard for his dreams. That boy used to be everything in my life, and the confession that I could never express. As those paper airplanes turned into an eternal label, in the end we were still you and me.