Text/[@穿越了——]

Fireworks are easy to cold, and personnel are easy to separate.

—Epigraph

There were tears in my eyes, and that was because I was so obsessed with memories. They say that a person's life should not be immersed in this, but it is so beautiful.

My tears fell to the ground, condensed, turned into dust, and became gems. The sun shines through this transparent gem, folding towards the sea, towards the river, towards the lake, where there are my memories. Maybe that's what life is all about, half the time creating memories and half the time playing them.

I try to project everything that has been in my head. But I failed, maybe I lived too much of my life. When memories exist, her existence is as empty as air. But when I tried to think of her, I found that she had already been scattered by the waves, drifting away with the waves, and could not even find a strand of hair. I could only stand by the sea, pick up the sand under my feet, and let it flow away silently like time and memory.

The beauty of memory, the beauty of the time that passes; The beauty of time lies in her inevitable passing.

I tried to put the pieces back together, but it failed. I have my memories, but I don't dare touch her, like glass, no, more like fireworks.

I didn't dare touch it, not because she was too painful, but because she was too good. It's so good that I can't believe it. But when I look back, I see a beautiful old picture, but with a bleak coat. All that was left to me was regret and grief. I didn't dare to face it, maybe because time made the memories go away, and at the same time kept reminding me that I couldn't do anything about her carving marks in my heart.

Life is short, that's a good thing. Otherwise, why would only such a short memory be left? And in this short memory, why is it full of unreasonable joys and sorrows?

I began to marvel at the splendor of the fireworks, but at the same time I could only sigh: just like life, the splendor is followed by endless pain; Blooming is also the beginning of decay.

When the prosperity fades, all I have left is the memories of the ruins.

It takes away the beauty of the past and circulates endless sadness.

Many years later, when I face the reality, I may once again stitch together the broken memories to mourn the passing of youth and frivolity; But maybe not, like fireworks, after the fireworks and silver flowers, who will remember its once brilliant brilliance?

Finally, the last dazzling brilliance of the fireworks disappeared in the night sky, and there was silence.

I will no longer remember the little gorgeousness that I dare not touch, but I just sit helplessly on the bluestone in front of the door.

Outside, it was a sad drizzle, but it was only empty energy to wash away the dust on the ground.

Tears, falling silently.

Although the fireworks fall, it is not as cold as the people.

－END－