As I write this introduction, our most recent interaction was yesterday.
This is a story about myself, and I will serve as a narrator to write about my youth.
It was once a cinnabar mole in my hand, and then it became a white moonlight. In the past few years, the hazy shadow of the white moonlight has repeatedly appeared in my sight. Fortunately, we were just destined to have no connection. The crumbling moon hung in the night sky again, and the cinnabar mole that was about to disperse spread out a touch of red.
In the past, I always wanted to find out the reason and know the answer, but many things do not have to have a result.
What I have recorded is not entirely true.
All prototypes are blurred.
Concept: Youth is beautiful, but you still need to write your own future
