When I started writing this article, it was raining outside the window of the office building. It was a weekday morning with thunder and lightning. I rummaged through my backpack and found no medicine. Obviously, it had not rained for a long time, so preparing medicine was ignored. The pain on the left side of the body inevitably makes people feel depressed. The industry I work in is in the off-season and there is nothing to do. I rolled my eyes at the computer, created this new document, and typed in this series of inscriptions. On the way to work in the morning, I saw large clusters of crape myrtle flowers blooming on the lush branches beside the road where the bus passed. Some memories were pulled out and kept swirling in my mind. I used this spare time to tell a story about the "flower season". These stories can be regarded as a memory of youth, and every boy and girl in their youthful age Every child will have stories like this. Their throbbing little thoughts are swollen and flying under the guidance of youthful hormones. The young and carefree teenagers have no correct guidance on this journey. They are deviant at Zhang Yang's age. The nature they have missed time and time again and the sad feelings have been imprinted in the bottom of their hearts over the years. In the midsummer when the flowers bloom to full bloom, smelling the burnt smell when youth ends, they finally find their own correct life track. Of course, those who remember these imprints are lucky. They have a complete journey of youth, but some people in the following story are not so lucky.