Memory is like a faint sadness, like the wind blowing across my cheek.

As if in a dream, the fragrance of flowers reminds me of that lingering youth.

In sadness, it was the time when youth turned into a disk. I smiled and laughed happily.

Flowers bloom and fall, flowers bloom and fall, and fall again when I feel infinite.

Spring, summer, autumn and winter are seasons.

In my opinion, it represents the disappearance of my life, the disappearance of that seamless youth.

When I was a child, the sun set, and I was sad for the days that flew by.

When I grow up, flowers bloom and fall, and I silently leave my youth.

Flowers fall, but they bring fruit.

Youth has dispersed, but it has brought a step-by-step growth footprint.