In the days of youthful sprouting, I will pay attention to a tall and straight figure outside the window, I will speed up my heartbeat for an inadvertent glance, and I will be excited by a common topic. Suddenly, we thought it was "love", and we didn't even hold hands or kiss. Some are sour, astringent, and sweet.
After many years, we have grown up, know what love is, and are familiar with holding hands, kissing and all the ways of expressing love, but we can't find that green and intoxicating taste.
What I can remember is the white shirt, the small note that avoided the eyes of others, the silly records in the diary, the tunes we hummed together, and the two long shadows under the dim streetlight when we got home. . .
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