I write this article to commemorate my two emotional experiences that I don't know how to name. The first time I waited stupidly, when I woke up from the dream and wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes, that was the memory. The second time I hurt him cruelly. It was obviously me who broke up first, but why did I still feel heartache? The scenes from the past emerged from the corner of my memory, and my eyes were filled with water. I'm sorry, dear, I buried all this with my own hands.