Maybe it's a true story, maybe it's just a story from my imagination. I have wanted to write it down for a long time, but I don't know whether it's because I hate it when the book is used, or because such a mediocre plot is not enough to be connected into a book. I never knew how to write it. That's what I saw, and it doesn't all belong to me. Many people meet together, and life is connected together. It's not finished yet, and it's hard for me to give the results I imagined. I left too many regrets in junior high school. When I was a freshman in high school, I tried to use the form of a novel to capture the three years of high school that I would never capture between the lines. Unexpectedly and reasonably, this incident later became another regret. I only wrote some sporadic fragments and then stopped writing. It has to be said that campus life does not even have much ideological depth and connotation for literature. For many people, such writing is indeed a past that has been sealed for a long time and still sighs when thinking about it again. Therefore, we are always willing to be exposed to plots that appear to be very same on the surface over and over again, as if we were going back and walking through them all over again. How many people persuade people to give up and pursue a new life, while at the same time looking forward to those happy endings. But some thoughts are fleeting, and some things will eventually become blurry. I still doubt whether my shallow literary skills can restore us at that time and outline everything that once belonged to us on that not-so-big campus. Before the memory is overwritten, start now. Even if it's just a moth to the flame.
Intention: The admiration of young people who die without illness