Scenes of memories appear in front of my eyes, like a movie that has been played out, and I know the ending but refuse to leave. I couldn't close the valve of memory and let the past impact me. I was washed again and again until my eyes could no longer hold the waves of tears. Conflict broke out in my heart again. I was divided into two parts, arguing whether I should forget those good things or the pain. I was so tired and so noisy. I don't want to forget. If even I don't remember those past experiences, who can prove it. So I took up my pen and tried to describe her again.
Purpose: A story about a little regret