I love the footage of Uzuki Uzuki riding her bike through the streets of cherry blossoms. I also bought a bike at the beginning of school, black, and learned to ride it the first week with the help of my roommate. On the flat but narrow roads of your freshman year, you can go from being careful to avoid crowds to moving freely in the crowd. Sometimes I will fall, and sometimes I will see others fall, so what if I fall, as long as I can stand up, I will continue to move forward as if nothing happened.
During class, I would go to the teaching building by bike with my friends. There was always laughter. We talked about life, gossip, and studies. I felt like I wasted too much of my life. But I prefer to avoid the crowded main road and walk against the mountain. The wind blowing from the seaside at the other end of the mountain pours into my clothes and massages every inch of my tense skin. My rhythm is fast and slow. , meandering left and right, as if completing a complex acrobatics, I laughed out loud, and I cried out loud. The cement road has become my stage, and every grass and every tree is my loyal audience. At this time, I am not happy. Ha, I am only 20 years old.
I saw a girl next to me on a bicycle once, while her friend was talking, she blushed and stared straight at the boy in front of her. When the boy turned around, the girl suddenly lowered her head and the boy looked at him. When you arrive at the girl, say hi to her, the girl shows a nonchalant expression, and says hello unnaturally and coldly, as if to explain feebly, I really didn't pay attention to you, really not.
God bless the lovely girl for sure.
If I revisit "April Story" one day, I will still think of my freshman me and that black bike.
"The picture of him playing the guitar in the field was nailed to the wall in his heart like a mural on the wall, and he couldn't take it off." There are so many pictures in everyone's heart, they can't be taken off once they are nailed. Down, through the thick dust covered by time, the gorgeous colors are faintly visible, and even the damage is sweet.
Time is running, memories are walking, my bicycle will never catch up, but missing is still in place, so I hold it tightly in my hands.
Whether it's winter plums in January, cherry blossoms in April, water lilies in July, and autumn chrysanthemums in September.
In the trance and composure of thinking and being missed.
Life simply goes on.
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