We met and parted in that year with flowers floating in the air. We laughed and chased the sunset, thinking that youth would always be so wanton, but we didn't know that the trajectory of fate had already quietly unfolded. The midsummer rain in August turns the flowers into flowers, and our dreams are quietly planted. The evening wind blows through our hair, and love sprouts in our hearts. The diary cannot contain our inner anxiety, and every frame of our interaction seems to be frozen.
Purpose: Chasing dreams