This is the youth memory story of a 17-year-old boy, Greg. He claims that this is a suck film, and the plot is just like the 42 films he has made. In the ordinary details, the most delicate emotions in the heart are excavated, silent but affectionate.
Greg is a cheerful boy who seems to be good at socializing. He is mixed in the school circles large and small, and maintains a good relationship with everyone. In reality, he's an introverted boy who hates himself and abandons himself. Except for Earl, who he calls his colleague, everyone else is not a friend. He just wants to be an invisible man who doesn't make enemies. From the bottom of his heart, Greg is afraid of socializing and hates talking to unfamiliar people, so he never admits that he has "friends" until he meets Rachel, a dying girl.
Under the pressure of his mother, Greg passively contacted Rachel, wanting to give the girl who was about to die one last bit of warmth. Do something, even though Rachel resisted him, believing he was sympathetic to her and rejected his good intentions, he still tried. From the first time the two were embarrassed and dull looking for topics, they gradually talked about everything.
It seems that Greg has paid a lot for Rachel. He spent half a year accompanying Rachel, shooting movies for her, making her happy, etc... But in fact, it was Rachel who helped Greg dare to face himself.
Greg didn't actually know Rachel until she died, and he didn't really enter her inner world. Rachel had always known Greg, she knew who he was and what he needed. Rachel really changed him, let him stop pretending to be an invisible person, dare to express, dare to fight like a man, and dare to face his heart.
When Greg finally stood in Rachel's room and looked at the room he had been to countless times, he suddenly discovered the delicate emotions of the last details, the gentle and fresh trickle of the girls. From the little squirrel jumping on the leaf wallpaper, to the secret hidden in the book, and finally to the large and small scissors on the wall, he smiled. He finally understood her, but it was after her death. . .
Everyone's 17-year-old memory is different, bitter, sweet, painful, rebellious and so on. The friendship at the age of 17 is as fresh and soft as the spring breeze, sincere and heartbreaking.
These sweet and sad past events will accompany youth and old age, and the once pure and flawless emotions will always be treasured in my heart.
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