In Those Years, We Promised Not to Separate

A touch of light color cannot hide the deep and persistent feelings; the slowly flying feathers cannot stop the love conveyed; the flying dandelion is a lonely wandering, or a continuation of life... Occasionally, I think of the dandelions that grow on the roadside in my memory. I often pick a few and insert them into my knitted straw hats, and then happily crowd them home; occasionally I recall the dandelions growing in the countryside in the summer, and I often break off a few and place them in the high wind, letting the fluff fly away in the wind. The simplicity of it embodies the simple happiness of childhood; the simplicity of it brings people the reverie of flying into the sky... In those years, we promised not to separate, but time passes and space changes, can we really not separate? I would like to commemorate our unscrupulous childhood with this article Youth without regrets