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I have never written sad words, nor have I made up poignant stories. ? Until one day, I discovered that loneliness can be drunk into the throat, and loneliness can be pumped into the lungs. ? Maybe words will be written and stories will be woven. ? But our youth is getting shorter and shorter, and our friends are getting fewer and fewer. ? We are all like a blind man, without direction, taking things as they come; we are also like an idler, walking around casually and never looking back, because we have no way to retreat. ? Some truths seem to be understood but are actually unknown; some people seem to understand but are actually difficult to understand. ? I don't know since when, I got used to living alone. I am miserable alone, who can understand my story! If that's the case, then so be it! Fortunately, the story is not over yet and life can go on. So, let us meet again in memories and get together in stories.