For many years, I have always wanted to write a story about me and my high school Chinese teacher, but I never knew how to start or how to write it down. Things have gone by in a hurry. I have grown from a young boy to a 30-year-old. Things that were once turbulent now seem to be calm. They are pressing in my heart. Occasionally, when I bring it up, I will only lament that I was so stupid and unbearable back then. But even so, the things that happened when I was young are still often brought up. At first, I was painful about them almost all the time, then at certain times every day, then once in a few days, and then I only think about them again occasionally. However, these things are like birthmarks on the scalp, which may be covered by hair when they grow up, but those things cannot be shaken off in a lifetime. However, in the end, the image of the Chinese teacher gradually moved inward and became blurred. If you don't pay attention, you can't tell what type of eyes she used to have. Every time at this time, I begin to regret why I burned all the photos she gave me. I was so sad and desperate that I abandoned all the future in the past and threw my life into darkness...