Before we experience something, we are first a child who knows nothing.
Those joyful and jumping years are far away.
I can't give myself too much expectations.
The shade of the trees under the sun spreads to the classroom window, and the summer breeze stirs the leaves of camphor.
The mood every day is very different. He may be cheerful one second, but gloomy and silent the next.
I don't know much about myself.
Like, what I am saying is, I like summer the most, such childish words, and again, in the dripping sweat, I think about summer, I hate it the most.
I'm not a stickler.
Towards people, towards things, towards oneself