Dusk quietly falls, wrapping the world in a gentle and silent atmosphere filled with solitude.
The streetlights cast a soft yellow glow, while the aroma drifting from a café blends into the air, adding a touch of warmth to this otherwise cold city. In such a night, I quickly sketch the shape of youth in my mind—brief yet vivid, like a figure with wings spread wide, swaying and lingering, impossible to forget that familiar face.
Sometimes youth is like a blooming rose fading into a subtle ache, leaving the early beauty of love preserved deep in memory, slowly forgotten with time. Occasionally, looking back, fragments of youth echo like pink wind chimes in the air, awakening our nostalgia for past laughter. Tears quietly fall as that beautiful period of youth is deeply buried within the heart.
An old lamp still flickers with faint light, a song has already ended, an unfinished play has reached its conclusion, and once-formed bonds have also come to an end.
Under the summer night sky, there is no cold moonlight or snow-filled sorrow, yet a gentle breeze still brings a slight chill.
At this moment, youth seems to have quietly come to an end.