At the beginning of autumn, most of the articles I've read recently are about thoughts on autumn. I've racked my brains to find a proper excuse for poets who express sentimental feelings about autumn, in order to free them from accusations of excessive sentimentality. But yesterday afternoon, when I saw the broken leaves and sparrows on the ceiling, I suddenly realized that autumn is always associated with nostalgia and sadness. I also understand my own ignorance of maturity. When I'm full of confusion, I feel a sense of direction, like searching for answers. After seeing through the illusions of autumn, I feel sad and lost inside. I seem to be eager to leave this place filled with memories, even though there's a training ground here where I've left my footprints and my comrades-in-arms. However, the most frightening loneliness and helplessness in my dreams have repeatedly dragged me into endless nightmares. I don't want to leave, but I look forward to the future after leaving. I always think that after experiencing wind and rain, even at 21 years old, I can surpass ordinary people's maturity, yet I am defeated by reality. At 21, I am a sentimental child, an embarrassing age. Afraid of losing, afraid of trying, afraid of change, and afraid of this unknown world. A year ago, you were you, and I was me. A year later, you are you, and I am me. Many years later, you are not you, and I am not me. In this rainy season at the start, I suddenly feel so emotional that I want to find a tree hole to whisper to. Hey, do you remember?