Memory is like water poured into the palm of your hand. No matter you spread it out or hold it tightly, it will eventually flow cleanly from your fingers drop by drop. The hourglass of time deposits the inescapable past, and the hands of memory always pick up those bright sorrows. Recalling bits and pieces of the past, turning over the pages of memory fragments, the sadness between my eyebrows can no longer hide. It was you who made my waiting pale and made my persistence ironic. I can't help but feel sad, so I slowly learn to hide it; because I don't want to be stabbed again, I gradually learn to pretend. The broken promises, the yesterday that cannot be put back together.
There are no ifs in life, only consequences and results. The past will never come back, and what comes back will no longer be perfect. . Your hands are the overwhelming warmth that I cannot touch, and my heart is the chaos that you have never known. What cannot be forgotten are memories, what continues is life, and what is missed is just passing by. Looking at the sky quietly, recalling every bit of the past, I found that perfection has gradually aged. During countless sleepless nights, I believe there will be many people who habitually start to close their eyes and quietly miss a person or a face. In their hearts, it may be enough to have such a person to miss.
Those fleeting years, those madness, those sorrows, have settled at a certain crossroads. We miss the past because the past contains many things that we have lost. Once some of them are lost, we can never find them again. We can't go back to the past, but we can start from now on and write a completely different ending. If you lose your childhood, you can keep your innocence; if your youth is gone, you can rejuvenate your spirit; if your love dries up, you still need to treat others with love; if your career fails, you can strive to maintain a perfect mentality in life and work.
Purpose: Inspiring stories