Very ordinary people, very ordinary things, some people may never be understood by you, some things will only slowly become memories when they are over, why should you be stubborn when some things are luxurious, and some things have to be the past.
There was once a love that lingered in my heart for a long time, but now I can only put it in my memories and use imagination to make it beautiful. You were the most perfect you in those years, and your shortcomings have long been written perfectly by the pen of my imagination. . . . . . . . . . .