When I was young, there was always an inexplicable feeling of loneliness. Regarding growth and love, I always wanted to find a way to fight against youth, but in the end I chose words. Just stop writing like this, scattered here and there. Years of time and people pass by under the pen, which is extremely splendid. Perhaps, there are still too many things that have not been written, and there are too many people that have not written, about feelings, about growth, but words are records of moods. As you walk, you write, and occasionally you stop and look back. You might as well take a look at the past again. Maybe it's more like talking in a dream. . .
Concept: Confused youth