Seven years is enough time for us to experience some people and forget some people. If love is like the entangled curves that grow in the palm of our hands, then there are two people like this, struggling in the residual warmth of love and non-love, until they experience the pain of moths flying into the flame. When we look back, the wet feeling has long been condensed in the eyes of you or me or him.
The feeling of memories being burned, I ask you, does it hurt?
You said let's come together...