Seventeen-year-old youth looks as transparent as a glass of white water on a windowsill. Clean like the childhood memories you and I both had.
I like that Gui Lunmei's hair is cut into a boy's short hair, and his face is green.
I like Kerou's persistent and eager appearance on the basketball court after kissing Yuezhen.
I like Shihao full of youth and said: "My name is Zhang Shihao, Scorpio, O type, swimming team, guitar club, I look pretty good." I
like Shihao pushing Kerou in the basketball hall: "What do you mean, you What do you mean, what do you mean, what do you mean, what do you mean..."
Shihao and Kerou had an illogical dialogue when they liked the hiding place in the swimming pool.
I like that Shihao finished eating at the food stall at Kerou's house, put on a bicycle, and shouted to Kerou upstairs: "I'm full, I'm going home." I
love Kerou's crying on the beach phone.
Love the grin and slapstick on the beach by Croix Howe.
Loved the bike chase on the green summer streets by Croixhaus.
I like the shot of Kerou lying alone on the table in the classroom when everyone goes to the swimming pool.
I like Kerou running to the pool, leaving only the shot of the summer wind blowing the pages of a book.
I like the scene where Shihao rolls on the ground in embarrassment before telling his secrets in the basketball hall.
...
I like all Kerou's shots, and I like Gui Lunmei.
Most of our memories of our school days seem to be about the budding and loving thoughts of adolescence.
The blackboard covered with handwriting on the back of the teacher will turn into letterheads at any time in front of your eyes. On it, there are your love and longings that you mailed, and there are also the pain and sourness of being discarded. You cry on that illusory page. With sneer, every bit of illusory reverie was condensed by a layer of light blue melancholy.
The blue door is actually the door of melancholy. It is the door that you and I stood together but hesitated to open. This is a story that you don't need to know.
The film brings people back to the innocent era where countless secrets were buried. In the eternal memory, it flashes secretly with the sun at that moment, just like the poem that you and I were fascinated by.
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