The Wind Blows and the Rain Makes the Young Man Cry

As time goes by, there is nothing that can be repeated. It is like a ladle of three thousand water. It is hard to collect when it is scattered. Even if your hands become cocoons and your feet become scabbed, the vows you believed in at the beginning are just the broken catkins in that spring day. Looking back on the third year of high school. In those days, there is always an inexplicable sadness in my heart. There is so much melancholy and reluctance. The classmates who laughed and scolded me, and the brothers in the dormitory who were more affectionate and shared the joys and sorrows will gradually go away, leaving only the imperfect memories. It is another season of flowers blooming in the northern hemisphere, and countless dream chasers who have gone through that war without gunpowder will move forward again. Flowers bloom silently, leaves fall without trace, and an era ends!