A road always has its own scenery.
You always lament that time flies by so fast, but you are always sighing helplessly, not knowing where time is going, and where your future lies. You run hard, but you are out of breath, and you don’t know the answer to the future.
In other words, standing at the current starting point, everyone has become the person they least understand.
They like it so much that they can completely forget about it.
However, every time the clouds are calm and the breeze is gentle, they are never remembered. Those glorious years, those rare memories, and those deep or shallow footprints are actually imprinted in the mottled time.
It makes you suddenly confused, wondering where the festival is coming.