The sky in September was extremely blue. On both sides of the city, rows of weeping willows caressed my skin and passed by cyclists. The orioles floating on the branches have brought these five-story buildings, full of literary and rational atmosphere, into their own world. Vendors hawking in the distance stretched their necks to look at the children who were leaving school after school, taking the opportunity to earn some living expenses for themselves. For the laughter here, some people wasted three years, some abandoned it for six years, and some people spent their entire lives in ruins.
Here is the purest imprint of your youth.
Here is the flower season that is most difficult to let go of when you are in middle age.
Here.
Long memory.