After Him, There Is Nothing I Miss Anymore

Sometimes I still can't figure out why I need to use writing to commemorate the form of feelings. And where did those people who met and got to know each other for the first time go, only to accidentally leave behind the accumulation of stories in their hearts. The place I passed by occasionally may not be as turbulent as it used to be. The finished story was mentioned again and I was at a loss as to why. But when it comes to telling it, it's always not as complete as it should be. I don't know why I am fulfilled and let down. Perhaps there is an explanation for the past in the name that no one knows.