The wind will sweep away the old cobwebs on the eaves and disperse the chirping of cicadas in the summer night. Even the old locust tree that often sits at the entrance of the alley has changed several rounds of new leaves over the years.
But there are always some feelings, like old wine buried in the bottom of my heart, getting stronger as I hide. It's the crooked umbrella we held together on a rainy day, the half-piece of roasted sweet potato handed to me in the cold winter, and the unspoken "don't leave".
You may not be able to remember the details of the story that was blown away by the wind, but the moment when your heart skipped a beat will be forever etched in time.
