In a foreign country, she buried her stubbornness deep in her heart. Regardless of the date of return, love became a memorial to her years.
In the midst of the storm at work, she was able to talk and smile but was hit by others, and the sweat behind her halo was stained by her years.
Sometimes, fate is just that. While hating, one is moved; while loving, one is hurt.
You have your principles, I have my beliefs; you have your persistence, and I also have my pride.
How come our smiling faces when we first met have disappeared in the torrent of time?
Heaven is not old, love is hard to break; the heart is like a double mesh with thousands of knots in it.
If I had known that it would be so disturbing to people's hearts, why would I not have known each other in the first place?