(This is not considered love, it is just the love we once thought, and the arrogant and arrogant likes and loves of youth and frivolity)
When we all left in the end, the past suddenly or naturally turned into memories, and those memories became the only evidence that reminded us of each other. The wings of the flowers are all broken and can no longer take us to fly. Maybe one day, the wings will get better again, but that will be a long time later, when we all grow up and become mature. . . . . .