It's unbelievable when I read my collections of my junior middle school age. I picked out the notebooks full of words from different people, paintings of my old classmates, letters and other stuff. They still feel so warm. Even when I look back into the splendid old times I feel so lost and tragical, I still feel satisfied and happy in my heart. No one knows how much I miss my old schoolyard and friends. They are just perfectly fantastic and attracting. I even want to be a little childish pupil again, sitting in the messed-up classroom, listening to the dizzy scientific words and sometimes feeling lost for no reason or just because of someone special. But none of the items above can be done. Time never  looks back. Absurd! I love it! I love my past! But what else can I do except keeping those collections safe and pick them up to review once in a while?

Time, you are also a cruel word, don't you agree?