Someone told me that if the decision is over, treat the past as a gift and store it away in dust. I think she is right. When I picked up the pen, the rolling shutter door of memory slowly rose, and every bit of this relationship was awakened. Time watched the rolling shutter door gradually get rusty, and I slowly forgot about it. Maybe when I finish writing this story, I can really let go of this story and draw an end to it myself.
To be honest, I am a very procrastinating person and have never persisted in completing anything. I hope that this time, I can persevere and tell this story in detail, as casually as remembering an old incident on a sunny winter afternoon.
Intention: Let's move forward.