I have written and released my writing several times. As a post-90s generation, I have tasted the beauty of love and am left with endless memories and regrets. . . I am afraid of pouring out everything. After all, it fills my heart, but I also want to pour everything out. I want to give my heart to the person I love now. . .
First love, a gentle girl. When I was immersed in the sweetness of love, I would not have imagined it a hundred times. I would not have thought that the two people I care about most betrayed me twice. But this happened like this. I was desperate to the bottom and lost the heart of my lover.
The second time I fell in love with a strong girl, I didn't know if it was love or my desire to conquer. I succeeded and I was happy, but where was the love? Why am I gradually becoming indifferent...
The first love after entering college, the long-lost heartbeat, appreciation? Like? Lonely? Amidst all the contradictions, I fell in love again. . But this time I have matured. Love does not mean that I love you, nor does it mean that two people are happy as long as they are together. . .
This article only commemorates our youth that has nowhere to rest and the love that has passed away. The sympathy of those born in the 1990s will have different adjectives from other loves: embarrassment, greater pressure, and huge responsibility. In the thorny road ahead, will anyone be willing to walk hand in hand with us on this thorny road? Or are we still alone after traveling around the whole world, just a passionate audience? . . . .