Begonia flowers fall one season, and magnolias wither one after another. On the day after the high school entrance examination, I published a thousand-word article, and the words are filled with my three years of emotions. The three years have been sweet, sour, bitter, and spicy. I don't know where to start. I just feel that these three years have been fast and slow. Maybe midsummer will come, the cicadas will still ring on the trees, and the plane trees will still be lush. But will the next one be like this when I am 15? Maybe not.
Intention: Summer will come again, but time will not