We always imagine the future, but we are afraid of it.
So we made this choice, fearing and wandering, and countless good things passed by.
Then when we grow old, we may not need to grow old. It only takes time for life to begin to grow heinously with the idea of regret.
So we are fanatically obsessed with youth, all those things that can be recalled, all the beauties that are biased from reality and only appear in memories.
Lost is a gem. And the only thing I can do is record it, record it before it has been beautified by the long years, and leave a chance to laugh it off in the future.