The world is chaotic and bustling with people. There are all kinds of things in the world, but love is hard to write down, and love is hard to express. If you are not a passerby, you have no intention of staying or leaving, no matter how spring and autumn reincarnate, how many past events will never be forgotten, and how many feelings will not be polished away by the years. Many times, as long as we steal a moment of peace, we can think of people and events one by one. Then guard a piece of happiness, or be tainted with a trace of melancholy, reminisce alone, and meditate alone. The warmth of the heart does not lie in how much you have, but in whether you cherish it. Sometimes long-term possession is not as good as short-term excitement. Let go of sadness, give your heart to time, feel the cycle of seasons, and miss you on a transparent tower, with emotion in your eyes and warmth in your heart.
Even though time is far apart, there is always a romance from the past, which inadvertently ran aground in a corner of my heart, and then rose up one night and turned into various thoughts. Missing is an unknown habit, a poignant and cold language. The bone-eroding lovesickness has condensed too much pain, probably just for you to learn to be calm.
The wind comes and the rain comes, the leaves fall and the flowers float, but the scattered ones will always have your tenderness. In this life, I am willing to enter the world of mortals, collect love, and devote all my tenderness to you, just to look back, smile, and catch a glimpse of you in the next life.