#### Childhood Memories, Time That Can Never Return

In my memory, there’s always the figure of someone pushing a bicycle and selling popsicles, the foam box holding the coolness of the entire summer. Back then, an popsicle costing just one dime could sweeten the heart. We friends would gather around, licking our popsicles, our eyes fixed on the marbles on the ground—ready for a “life-and-death duel” in the next second.

The dirt lot at the alley entrance was our natural playground. We’d run wild rolling iron hoops, our laughter startling the swallows under the eaves. When tired, we’d lie on the ground and play marbles, digging small pits and betting all our “possessions.” The stakes were no more than the weight of a single candy, but we treated it as seriously as if it were a huge deal. And there were those homemade toy guns, pieced together with rubber bands and wire to create “weapons.” We were the bravest “soldiers” in the alley, chasing each other across the village to claim a “territory.”

Back then, the sky was always so blue, and the days always so slow. We’d squeeze onto the backseat of a friend’s bicycle, laughing without a care, believing this happiness would last forever.

But now, the cries of the popsicle seller have long been replaced by air-conditioned cold drinks. The marbles have gathered dust in the drawer, and the iron hoop has rusted in the corner. Of the friends who once played with us, some only show up as likes on social media, while others I haven’t seen in years. We’ve finally become adults, but we can never go back to those days when marbles were treasures and iron hoops were toys.

It turns out the most precious thing isn’t childhood toys—it’s the time that can never return.