Small white flowers, green orange grove, heavy yellow
****** ***** ***** ******
The eyes of the orange tree are always filled with grandma's tears.
I missed my mother's youth. I don't know what grandma's child looks like.
At that time, my heart was as high as the sky, and I didn't want to let my heart become swollen because of anyone.
I would keep running away from everything that made me uncomfortable. Over time, his slightly raised voice became Pavlov's bell.
Maybe the long-awaited "I'm sorry" should come out of my mouth.
…How many more summers can people endure without air conditioning?
Intention: Go back to that summer
