Defined by Archive

存档.

What we call the self is but a scattering of moments - most of which dissolve quietly into the void of forgetting.

Memory, for all its warmth, deceives. It smooths the edges, reorders the past, cloaks regret in sentiment. But the archive does not lie. A letter yellowed by time, a postcard scribbled in haste - these are fragments of reality that endured. They are proof that something once was, lasting or otherwise.

The Postcards.

To be continued. Sincere articles in this age are extremely difficult. :(
Hopefully with some meaningful animations! :)
Can you guess the language of code block renderer based on the colour highlight? ^_^

In the echo of all unwritten words,
QSD, QSB, and the once beloved QXD