That period of time that I thought I couldn't erase finally turned into teardrops, and each drop was locked up. Each of us is just a passer-by, admiring the flowers blooming and falling, and passing by like a fleeting time. The previous ties, the silent touches, and the everlasting promises were all lost to the ages. When we grow up, can we still find our original past? Amber is like us, imperfect but perfect.