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Running and running, I have grown up, running and running, and I am in the third grade of junior high school. On the occasion of parting, I would like to give you a glass of "wine" for myself, my teachers, and my classmates. Time is warm, and the long-stored past events are basking in the sun and bathing. Picking one up and shaking it, the gray is beautiful and light, singing a sad song in the bright sunshine. Through the dust, there is light, a smile, blooming lightly, but extremely bright. The story of clouds, birds and roses flows slowly in the smile, it is the rain in the smile, crystal clear. Stories are not for one person. Gifts are not given to one person. Clouds are in the sky of birds, birds are in the land of roses, and roses are in the home of clouds. Yes, there is only one home. Many names are all for it, home - Class 6, Grade 2022. Three years, time flies like water. Let it pause for a moment and let us look back. Even if there is only one light feather left, the traces are all diaries of love. Let me be the person who keeps it, turn it into sunshine, and then spread it to the home to warm the home, so that we can have a little more nostalgia, even a little bit.