When it comes to midsummer, all they talk about is the chirping of cicadas and the green shade, but no one thinks of the gentle breeze blowing on their cheeks and hair...
"I thought you and I would never cross paths again."
"Maybe you and I will never meet again..."
Under the scorching sun of midsummer, with cicadas chirping in the green shade, we finally opened our wings in the breeze and flew to our own mountains and sea...
Intention: In the age of youth, rush to the future