Opening the high school diary, the diary has not yet yellowed and folded, and high school is not far away yet. I want to look back at the graceful boys and girls in white who were sixteen, seventeen, or eight years old, to see those sincere and ordinary young faces, to see the feelings and delicate and sensitive emotions that turned into poems and paintings. Compare my state of mind now and then to see if time has polished my memory; if I have grown up enough to face myself a few years ago; to see if I have become more and more like Xiao Shuiqing with the expectations I had at the time; and finally say goodbye and welcome quietly in my memories.
The sweetness of high school life is like a flower that blooms from poverty. I'm here to help you unlock it, dust it off, and air out your emotions. There is no need to deliberately distinguish between genders and pay attention to "love". Those straightforward "like you" and "be good to you", those who like you and the people you like, those little thoughts that cannot be expressed but can only be understood can only be stored in that specific time, but they can be told to themselves long after: pure and beautiful things are real.
I want to tell a complete high school story, about getting along with classmates, friends, teachers, and family members, including studying well and struggling to cope, being proactive and being unable to cope, being envious and being envied, being explicit and real, and being dramatic, and having happy encounters and regretful farewells...
Intention: There is no beginning for failure, and there is an end for failure.