I look back at the traces I have left over the years, and I have never thought about making any mark on my lost youth before. The bright and innocent smile on the face of my childhood friend comes to mind, out of reach. The sweat and tears I once shed are like a dream. Now we have gone our separate ways, and everything has changed.
When I was young, I was a very unhappy child. Although I looked so carefree in the eyes of adults, they didn't understand the troubles of being a child of this era. There are many children in our family, my parents' friends all say this, and I am the most obedient and silent child in the family. So I think except for certain things, I am a good child, but paradoxically, I am also the child who is least recognized. So I think everyone will understand the troubles I had as a child.
I also know when I started to enjoy reading a lot of books, from the second grade of junior high school? First year of junior high school? Or maybe even longer ago, I only know that I started writing a lot of words after I came out of school, maybe as a way to make up for it. Because I was still a child when I came out of campus, and indeed I was still a child at the end of my 15th year. I still vaguely remember the scene of me standing at the school gate waving goodbye on that month of that year, and then holding all the books in my arms and leaving the dusty school gate with a lonely look on my face. I remember that the flowers of the willow trees at the school gate bloomed very early, blooming a little lonely white, and drifting in the wind.