That very short street, I walked for a long, long time. A few homes, a few paulownia plants. On a summer afternoon, there will be a yellow dog stretched out and lying on the side of the road, with its ears standing up

That very short street, I walked for a long, long time.

A few homes, a few paulownia plants. On a summer afternoon, a yellow dog stretches out and lies on the side of the road, its ears particularly sensitive.

The cooking smoke drifted into the air.

In several dreams, I passed by the people's homes at that time and found the frolicking that had fallen.

Those bright and pure love of the time, those memories of the green brick female wall, just like the strange pear blossoms, like a sad little poem, floating up and falling.

No matter how many colors there are in life, what we are most obsessed with is the most trivial soft time wrapped in the fireworks of the world.