Some stories fly like paper and then fall. Some memories corrode another memory, leaving deep and shallow holes in it, making it impossible to delve deeper. When you are at the age when you should love, you have forgotten how to love, how to blush, how to beat your heart, and feel that you have buried your youth with your own hands. You can't find the exit or trace, and you are busy but without purpose. I just want my busy life to stop me from calming down and thinking about those ridiculous past events. The heroine of the story is very lonely. There is no male protagonist in the story, only passers-by. A story that belongs only to the heroine is even more desolate and lonely. It seems that I can never find a way out. The past years, everything I once had, and those arrogance also disappeared in the wind, leaving no trace.