Essence Maybe what is lost is forever.

Maybe what is lost is forever.
Qian Xia is like a careless legend, lazy and boring, without any highlights. We have lost ourselves in this season.
Summer dusk. Very few.
You said that in that country where there are no angels, there is a girl quietly counting her tears.
You said that if we hadn't met at that time, fell in love in the middle, and finally ended, you would not admit that we have grown up.
You said that facing the sunset, no matter which direction you turn, you will be desolate.
I quietly bury your tears, quietly recall our past, quietly turn around in the sunset, I have no way to forget, really.
The flowers have fallen. Drops of blood splashed on the ground, and I knew that we were already in heaven and on earth.
hurt.
In the past, it was so fake.
There may be many people who think that our group of sad children are naive and innocent, but when I recall them, I use the most serious expression. I don't want to laugh, but I laugh happier than anyone else. I don't want to pretend, but I always curl up at the foot of the bed, lonely and silent.
Who said we shouldn't have sadness.
Who said that what we have is self-deception of happiness.
Who said that youth cannot be a sad and beautiful sentence.
Give us a pen and a piece of paper, and we can paint the sunshine.
In the short summer, the wheat sang a song to bid farewell to our young youth. We each watched happiness in our own wheat fields. Even if everything was just for this turn around, at least we had walked through it instead of passing by.
Lonely and cool. Like a tomb.
You have gone far
Never come back
Remember. I always have that outdated CD in my pocket, listening and writing tirelessly. I dream that one day I can write my feelings into a book and publish it in the name of youth.
Remember. Holding your hand through countless alleys, running from one alley to the end of an alley, and then from another alley to another, exchanging each other's thoughts in the dark alleys, innocently catching the sunshine.
Remember. Riding a bicycle will take you to the wild, and watch the irises climb all over the hillside, and then watch them fall quietly.
The drizzle wets the flowing light, shatters the fleeting years, and eventually, the iris flowers fade.
Hey
You count one, two, three, I count three, two, one. We turn around at the same time. The setting sun lengthens our thin figures.
The sadness scattered on the ground.
Don't think about the smiling face of the past, but now the memory is sad several times.
Don't pursue it.
Memories are fleeting and broken.
Perhaps what is lost...is forever