Rolling dust. Love is indeed the sharpest thing. Even if a moth flies to the flame, I only look forward to that person's looking back. Whose tears streaked down the cheeks, whose hearts were withering, and who sacrificed whose love, leaving only the cracks of dissatisfaction with false promises. All things are floating, have you ever known that people are drunk but their hearts are not drunk? That glass of wine is evidence that I love you. After all, love cannot withstand the vicissitudes of life. One sentence, I love you, spans many tears.