Memories are like the melody of my heart; they are echoes in a distant hall, and one day nobody will remember them at all. One hour, one minute, or one second, and they’re gone—like they never existed. We always say that we should live for the moment, but the moment lives for us and becomes a memory.

Memories are like tears on paper or bright sunlight in the sky. Sometimes we can choose, but sometimes we cannot. They flow with time. Are people made for memories, or are memories made for people? I guess it's a choice, too.

Memories are like a fingerprint: once it is left, you can’t remove it, but if you remove it in time, its echo will haunt you forever. But what if memories are gone one day? Will the melody of my heart disappear with them?