My younger self is an old time. Time is mottled, flashing with the past. Faded memories, vague impressions, the childhood laughter in my ears went further and further away, until in the end only a long list of names remained. Maybe it was a greeting when we met, or maybe it was three glasses of light wine or two glasses of light wine we met by chance, which made us even more lament the ruthlessness of time. The shallow talk and deep talk are just trivial things in memories. Others you feel you miss may not remember them. Gradually you choose to remain silent at gatherings, and then there are fewer gatherings. It's not about missing out, it's about going far away. Is it sad? The people holding hands and leaning on each other's backs are still there, but their mood is no longer the same. It is better to miss each other than to meet each other, and it is better to see each other than to miss each other. It is better to forget each other in the world than to see each other again. We meet on this street corner and cherish it. Goodbye at the next intersection, take care. The expectation for love has long been rooted in the most secret place in my heart, and I am looking forward to and afraid of being picked by others. Perhaps, flowers bloom one step ahead, no matter whether it is good or bad, they are always complacent, show off, and then suffer for a while. Sadness just follows one after another. People say that the rainy season will never come again. I don't understand what the rainy season is during the flower season. I only know that the flowers have fallen. From the throbbing of youth to restless desires, time will not give you time to know yourself, but will drag you through it. Even if you can't experience it, the painful memories of youth all over the sky will erode your innocence. No matter how reluctant you are, the greenness is fleeting. When you open your palms, the scars are ugly and dazzling. Does it hurt? It hurts, growth is not that simple.
Intention: Growth is not just about pain.