In the darkness, Qing curled up in the darkness, holding a cell phone in her hand, talking...
"Are you okay?" My father's greeting came from the other end of the phone. He was weak and weak.
"Well, I'm fine." Qing, lost in thought...
The dream of a young man is always like this. A fire can burn vigorously, but when the wind blows, it disperses and floats everywhere. It still looks like a dancing butterfly in the air. Once it hits the ground, it is no different from dust.
"Dreams, dreams... Just think about it, but it doesn't have to come true!"
Concept: The teenage years are the easiest, but also the most powerless.