Years ago, we were walking around in a small town, going around in circles, and then we met each other and smiled at each other. Later, we were walking among strange people in cities all over the country, and could not see the sad profile of the young man.
Some memories of childhood are like the lines on the palm of your hand, which may be deep or shallow, but they are still held tightly in the palm of your hand by the young man. The same is true for me. Time flies by, and the young man rides by. I think that even if many years have passed, I will still think of it.