Some memories were burned, and some memories were buried in the bottom of my heart. The age of innocence passed through the golden age like running water. Memories are like a tight string, trying to recall the past. If you don't pay attention, you will return to reality. The stories of Sui always start in the happiest tone on a sunny day, as if the storyteller really doesn't know how sad the ending will be. Memories fade piece by piece. The confused world of mortals, like the smoke of the past, is like the bleak autumn wind, holding up the leaves of memories.
Some feelings can only be found slowly through memory. The memories are crowded, but there are no passers-by. Silk threads are wrapped around us. This end and that end are infinitely entangled with the world. The tombstones of memories record vivid faces, and there are hands holding us before everything begins. My blood is like my death. Yesterday always belongs to the past. Regardless of success or failure, the past always belongs to death. Yesterday is like a falling meteor across the sky, with no time to greet you. Yesterday is like a dandelion flying all over the sky, showing its swagger.
Life is just a series of isolated moments in which meaning emerges, disappears, and reappears through memories and fantasies. The hourglass of time flows quietly bit by bit, and the traces of time are described in detail, stroke by stroke. And beautiful memories often bring me a lot of warmth and touch. After all, we are just passing by, passing by your beauty, passing by his indifference, passing by other people's cities and skies, leaving a mark in everyone's eyes, and that mark will eventually be worn away by the years. But it's great that you are gone, otherwise I would always be worried that you would leave.
Purpose: Inspiring stories