Love, this familiar yet unfamiliar word. They conjure up vague and abstract pictures in my mind, like a framed fence or a jumble of footprints scattered across the desert. I don't know which one is more profound, love or hate. The price I paid for this is, to say it elegantly, risking one's life for love, but to say it popularly, it is stupidity. I am a prisoner serving his sentence for love, and you are the cause of everything.
I can only comfort myself that this is a test given to me by God, just like overcoming a tribulation. I was like a scavenger, my love, which was not spectacular, or even comparable to any sensational novel, I was not the only audience, just a cleaner. When everyone had left, I picked up the mess on the floor, with my name vaguely engraved on it.
It turns out that love is actually about finding oneself.
Concept: Not all love will have a perfect ending. When we fall out of love, what we lose is not only the ability to love, but also the self that should be happy. In the university of love, finding yourself is an eternal required course.