Where there is life, there are memories. You can't resist, and there's nowhere to run. You are a person in the world, and memory is your shadow. What is worth remembering will never be forgotten and touched. No matter bitter, no matter sweet, no matter happy, no matter sad. Some feelings can only slowly find the original taste by memory, and the memories are crowded, but they have never seen passers-by. Nothing in the world is eternal. If it flows, it flows away; If it exists, it will dry up; If it grows, it will wither slowly.
With memories, life can be rich and years can be full of poetry. Indulge in memories, youth is inevitably pale, and men's hearts are also sad. Memory is the pillar of sandalwood. Ignite casually and burn silently. Graceful and ethereal dancing with the wind is dreamlike smoke, and it is also a fading time. The fragrance is gone, the smoke is gone, the ash is gone, and the dream is fragrant. Memory is an old piece of music on an old phonograph, covered with dust and scars. Yi-ya, Yi-ya, Yi-ya, seems to be pouring out the usual bleak and broken life, like reading endless vicissitudes.
Memory is like water in the palm of your hand. Whether you spread it out or hold it tightly, it will eventually flow clean through your fingers. Memory is a sudden dream of "green spring waves under the sad bridge, which used to be a stunning reflection", and memory is a sudden heartbreak of "all over Qian Fan, full of love and water". Memories are worth touching. But this is just a time to greet yourself. Give all commitments a deadline. This period is short. You will. It is forever. If not. You can also say. This is just a lie.
Memories fade away one by one Confused world of mortals, like the past, like the bleak autumn wind, holding the fallen leaves of memories.