It was already September when I picked up the pen, just a little bit, just a little bit closer. The fleeting time has taken away the long, long past. But something was involved, and the bits and pieces left behind turned out to be imprints engraved in the memory. In dreams you can often hear:
Mo Mo said helplessly: "Qi Luochen is an eight o'clock uncle."
Gui Xiyan said quietly: "It would be great if I didn't graduate."
Lu Xiahe said with a bad smile: "You can't get jealous of popularity. The school girls are all cute, Xiao Fengfeng."
Yin Chenfeng said angrily: "Whenever Lu Xiahe disappears, the world will be complete."
Konoha Shurui said: "Hey, Gui Xiyan, Mo Mo, will those summer memories really not disappear?"
Waking up on the wooden floor, with heavy rain outside the window, and the tip of the pen drawing circles on the manuscript paper. If those memories slowly fade and fade, then let the sound of tapping the keyboard slowly compose the long lyrical music played by those teenagers.
Do some fluttering piano sounds fall in your heart, and then do you also smile and ask yourself: I have had these memories too, right? Will there be these memories in the future?