Sixteen-year-old dream of the seventeen-year-old rainy season

I am sixteen this year.

A cardamom, looking at the old man on the street, wearing a thick makeup to cover up all the expression of the woman. I think: They have been like me, have spent the years. But the flowers also have flowering time. I imagined that I was old, and I thought that I would put all the right and wrong in the past.

That song, no longer crazy, we are old, and we are still upright, mad, and pay homage to our youth.

The 16-year-old rain is still going down, don't escape, in fact, you are wet, but also smile.

Ask yourself: You are still crazy. Dreams don't dream.

I want to say that I will still be crazy, but also dream.

In the rainy season of sixteen, I planted a dream about seventeen.

Second day: Aachen