那是年少的一场迷梦,真实地存在过,却轻轻地缥缈着远去。是我们一同绽放了那个花季,还是那时的花季绽放了我们?岁月飞逝,时光流转,花谢花飞飞满天,飘成回忆,被风吹散。我们望着飘落一地的梦,试着将过去与现在,回忆与现实交织、折叠,却始终无法重合。站在缅怀与憧憬的界限,我们无所适从。谁来解救我们,沉睡在童年记忆中的我们? It was a young dream, a real existence, but gently wander away. Are we blossoming that flower season, or when the flowering season bloom us? Time flies, time flows, flowers Thanksgiving flying, floating into memories, was the wind scattered. We are looking at falling dreams, trying to intertwine the past with the present, the memories and the reality, and fold, but we can not always coincide. Standing on the line of memory and vision, we know what to do. Who will save us, sleep in our childhood memories?