Flowers will bloom again, and people will never be young again. A memory, a scene of youth, with love, hate, crying and laughter. Ignorant and childish, I walk on my feet. Looking up at the sky at a 45-degree angle looks like youth. Looking back on the past, there is astringency in the bitterness, and sweetness in the astringency. Nostalgia, regret, softness, throbbing... This is youth, a youth that no matter how sad and painful it is, can still bring out a smile when recalling it.