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 the beauty of life. They symbolize the sweet streams in the life that are gone in a hurry, the quietness of always sleeping soundly, the secrets in the heart; but at the same time, they are also the moments of angels and devils, the eyes of sea blue and darkness, the visible face when the light disappears.
Memories are like a tight string, trying to recall the past. If you don't pay attention, you will return to reality. Sui's stories always begin on a sunny day with the happiest tone, 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. There are always 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.
Purpose: Inspiring stories