The September wind picked up the camphor leaves and fell on the red tips of the girl's ears. She looked up at that tall figure, the scent of soap locust passed over her school uniform, and her heartbeat shattered the chirping of cicadas throughout the summer. A pen, a wrong body, became the foreshadowing of fate - he will always be the moonlight close to her, and her secret love will always be a dead leaf sandwiched in the textbook, a postman who can't wait for spring.
Intention: The sorrow and pain of youth are also unforgettable