We used to feel that our lives were clear and transparent enough, but now we find that in the end it is still a dream-like story. After ten years of waiting, whether inside or outside the bronze door, now I turn the page of the book. Once, it was you in the book. Once, it was us outside the book. See you again in the sky and see them again. Memories come flooding back. None of us are wrong, and none of us have forgotten. Fortunately, you are not old. Fortunately, you are still here. I would rather have old friends come so that we can forget and love each other. If everything is just a passage of time, then has the story of our lives just begun?