Can we really stop thinking about those things that we have tried so hard to forget?
Many years ago, when she was a pseudo-literary young man, she would often ask that person to "read" her latest masterpiece. He is a talented person from the finance department of C University. Although he is miserable, he is actually very happy. One time, I happened to read a novel she had published in the school magazine, and she even praised the title - Memories are like water poured into the palm of your hand, whether you spread it out or hold it tightly, it will eventually flow cleanly from the fingers, bit by bit.
Over the years, she often thought of that sentence. It would be great if that were the case. However, the memories between him and her were so stubborn that they were burned into the palm prints of her hands. Every time she touched it, she felt a dull pain.
Four years. She never thought she would return to the city. Wandering is a great state, whether it is about your feet or your heart. She doesn't have such a state. She just, had to, exile herself far enough.
Sorry, I have signed a contract with April Day. From now on, the novel will be updated on April Day. Stopped updating here.
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