Twilight descends quietly, enveloping the world in its singular loneliness.
The streetlights cast a dim, yellowish glow, blending with the rich aroma from the cafe to infuse this cold city with warmth. It makes me instinctively trace the silhouette of youth in my mind—like a bird with short body and long tail, spreading its wings ostentatiously, yet refusing to depart, leaving that familiar face unforgettable.
Sometimes, youth is like the fading red of a rose turning into the ache of wild plants, leaving the traces of once-beautiful love to be forgotten with time. Occasionally, rewatching the documentary of youth is like hearing pink wind chimes tinkling in the air, prompting us to gaze back at the sky that once held laughter. Tears sometimes flow uncontrollably, as we deeply bury the beautiful memories of our bygone youth.
The lamp still flickers with faint light, but the song has ended, the play has not yet finished, yet the fate has reached its end...
Under the summer night sky, there is no intrusion of the cold moon, nor the desolation of scattered ice and snowflakes, yet a gentle breeze's chill can still be felt.