#### Childhood memories, times that can never be regained

In my memory, there’s always the figure pushing a bicycle selling popsicles, with foam boxes hiding the coolness of the entire summer. Back then, a one-máo ice pop could sweeten your heart, and friends would gather around, licking their ice pops, eyes fixed on the marbles on the ground, about to start a “life-and-death duel” in the next second.

The muddy ground at the alley entrance was our natural playground, rolling iron hoops and running wildly, the laughter startling the swallows under the eaves. When tired, we’d lie on the ground playing marbles, digging small pits, betting all our “possessions,” with wins and losses weighing no more than a piece of candy, yet taken seriously as if it were a matter of great importance. There were also homemade toy guns, assembled with rubber bands and iron wires, making us the bravest “soldiers” in the alley, chasing around the village for a piece of “territory.”

Back then, the sky was always very blue, and days always felt slow. We squeezed onto the back seat of a friend’s bicycle, laughing heartily, thinking that such happiness would last forever.

But now, the shouts of selling popsicles have been replaced by cold drinks in air-conditioned rooms, marbles have gathered dust in drawers, and iron hoops have rusted away in the corner without anyone noticing. Those friends we once played wildly with, some like and comment on social media, others we haven’t seen in years. We’ve finally grown up, but can never go back to the age when marbles were treasures and iron hoops were toys.

It turns out, the most valuable thing isn’t childhood toys, but the times that can never be relived.