"An inch of time is an inch of gold, an inch of lovesickness is an inch of gray."
He and I are different after all, and those memories stored in the box in my heart can only be comfort to myself and cannot be shared. Once many things are labeled as "once", most of them have shown an irreversible trend. After all, "it was once difficult to make a living", and do you still remember those old things that have long since dried up?