The sycamore leaves are like stars falling in the wind, falling into my heart one by one. Are you a falling sycamore leaf or a falling star? When I was young, I tried to catch the stars sifted through the sycamore leaves, but I forgot that the stars would eventually return to the sea of stars, and the fallen leaves would eventually return to the soil.
I wrote my youth into a book, dedicated to the protagonist who never appeared - the figure who passed me by under the sycamore tree. Maybe she never existed, or maybe she was already in a corner, quietly reading my stories.
Mission: Youth healing