Love is sweet, like the warm sun in winter, shining into the heart, like morning coffee, soaking hot in the palms.
Love is a quarrel, like broken glass, it hurts the heart, but it can reflect all kinds of colors, like the falling red in autumn, grinding out flower liquid, but it is fragrant in the autumn night.
Love is waiting. No matter how time goes by and the scenery passes through your fingers, the obsession in your heart is the most difficult to let go of lovesickness.
Turn around, speechless, I am where I am, you are not.
Suddenly, the smile, lovesickness or not, will still be there.