Five articles about love and sadness

Love articles always have a trace of sadness, which makes it hard to let go after reading them. The following is a sentimental love story I compiled for you. I hope you like it.

I'll wait for you at the intersection of time.

In fact, countries near the equator are also quite good. Sunny, not stingy every day. Splashed a lot. The setting sun is red and round, and the blue sea is slightly blue, reflecting a smiling face as gorgeous as summer flowers. I feel a little tired in midsummer. It's a little cold to explore the sea barefoot on the beach at night, but the surrounding air is still warm and comfortable, and you can go swimming in the sea. Where there is sunshine, people's hearts are brighter and they are full of understanding and yearning for everything. It's just that distant relatives have already had a chill.

I still remember the summer night in Gulangyu, the dim street lamps, the silent narrow lanes, the leafy roses passing through the deep walls, and the melodious piano sound from a family. Imagine the Iraqi people's long fingers, gently touching the notes, and the sounds of nature suddenly floated everywhere, turning into ethereal and gentle dew and falling into their brow. That melancholy and nostalgia seemed to be washed and dried in an instant. I think that the golden fruit produced in this midsummer has been carefully preserved by me. In my memory, it is beautiful and moving.

As long as there is a lover around, everything is perfect. I have said this sentence gently many times, because you and I are full of love in our hearts, and life is truly rich and worth remembering.

The handsome guy told me that his colleague Lawrence just found out that there was a tumor in his abdomen yesterday afternoon. The doctor said there was a possibility of 10% malignancy. Lawrence hasn't decided whether to fly back to Germany for surgery, waiting for further advice from the doctor and waiting for a verdict on his life. This handsome boy is still very young, but he is over 40 years old, talkative and generous, and has an excellent appetite. He has two children, the youngest of whom is just over two years old. I was silent and couldn't help worrying about him. When I went out for a walk, my good mood dimmed, adding a little panic.

Should there be a trace of sadness in the autumn sea wind? Everyone can't escape the test of fleeting time, and will eventually lose, because life is pale and limited. The enthusiasm and arrogance of nature bring infinite vitality to spring, and sometimes it is cold and cruel. Autumn has come, dead leaves leave the branches and rush to the earth wearily and helplessly, turning into a wisp of spring mud in the coming year. As the days go by, there is no turning back in life. Everyone can't escape the last shadow, die like the quiet beauty of autumn leaves, and return to the end of life-dust and dirt.

When I sleep at night, I hold the handsome boy's hand on my chest and hold the dew that I don't want to put down this day. I am willing to drink with you; Like water flowing eastward, I am willing to spend the rest of my life outside last romance with you; I want to thank you for stopping in my life and loving me.

I will wait for you to recognize me at the intersection of time, and I will wait for you to hold my hand and watch the prosperity together.

Dust is doomed to be old.

There is a kind of beauty, which is lonely waiting for memories. This incomplete beauty is not lacking in taste. Everyone passing by is experiencing it, including laughter, crying, joy and heartbreak. If you have at least loved it, you will live up to the fate given by the years and cheer for the meeting.

I like breathing beside you, leaning on your chest, indulging in your world, waiting for every word you say and playing every heart-wrenching movement for you. Those fragments of memory touch the piano and touch the ink, and the marks of wasted years make the world more emotional and make up for the defects. It's just that a chaotic kiss turned into a paradise on earth in a panic, and the story of a romantic night was interpreted.

Dust ages easily, and the fate of running water under the bridge. Meeting for the first time is fate, but it's hard to wait for you. That's a familiar number. If you delete the phone book, you can't delete your memory. If you can't say goodbye, you'll never see each other again. When you stick together, you always tell me about the past species. Now it is beyond redemption. Will I be your memory? Now, I occasionally look up at the starry sky by the lake. The breeze brushed my cheek and lifted my long hair. It is the footsteps that disturb my dreams, stop looking, avoid every past I may encounter, forget the past, give up the words that used to be so pleasant, and release the definitions attached to the dictionary.

Cut off the reincarnation, the dew in the night sky is crystal clear, it is the tears of purple star, and the sky is white and gaunt. Let's toast each other with wine and laughter and greet the new day with a night of ecstasy. The sunrise at sea announces the past of this life, and the past is long. As the sun sets, I am still sitting by the lake, and this journey of life is also precipitated bit by bit. This is the taste of fate. When it comes and goes, it must come and go.

Without the withering of late autumn, Hainan is also full of luxuries, reflecting the mood at the moment, as if it were a little ironic. Everyone does everything for his own reasons, which is our tacit understanding. No matter whether everything that is gone now depends on it or not, this dead butterfly is just a long whistle in the sea at this time, and it is perfunctory to laugh and forget it. There is no chance in this life, right or wrong is false. All kinds of people know nothing about the resolution, so their thoughts sway with the wind and find that the once scene has become a dew marriage in this life.

Drunk nights make the heart sink, and the blood is unrestrained. At this moment, I am also drunk, full of gold, flowing and flooding, diluting the past, wasting your face, and the dust will eventually pass. Let time water that love and wither in your sunshine. Parting is always sentimental. The past that hurt each other, let it die in youth, forget the dribs and drabs of the past, and let the clouds of the past pay homage to the past.

The fate of dust is easy to get old, and the love is long. Where are you?

Some details of youth are always unforgettable.

When years have dried up the past, when youth is fading away, looking back on the past, the former youth has become a landscape, and some details of youth are so unforgettable.

After several spring rains, wild flowers bloomed all over the back of the mountain, nourishing the hazy and ignorant feelings of a group of boys and girls. On the playground, next to the dining hall, on the steps, there is the long tree-lined road. Because of the shy eyes, the moment when the eyes are charged, an accidental meeting and an unintentional greeting, all the scenery is charming and smart, as if there are some secrets, so that the birds in spring can pass quietly in the song. A clear spring in my heart seems to have been thrown into a stone, causing ripples. Some sentimental spring worries drowned someone's curtains at midnight after the night light went out, accompanied by the voice of his roommate.

Inadvertently, the rainstorm suddenly started outside the window. After several storms, everything grows wildly in summer. Along with madness, there is also hazy love. Just like the weeds all over the mountains, the green is dazzling and attractive.

A few days later, the student section chief wearing black-rimmed glasses boldly announced the list of offenders caught on the football field last night at the school meeting. Although the school policy is high-handed, the love of youth is still like the morning glory in front of the dormitory window, quietly poking out the pink trumpet.

Every morning and evening, in the boys' building, there are always guitarists singing the most popular love songs at that time to a window in the girls' building in the morning and evening: "You were like a fire that winter, and your big eyes were as bright and shining as the stars in the sky, which was the brightest one" or roaring "Loess High Slope" and "About Winter", which made people feel sad and sang. The fullness and vitality of young life suddenly appeared. At that time, being a guitarist, having a beautiful guitar, leaning against the corner in front of the dormitory to play a few songs "artistically" and closing your eyes slightly always attracted many girls from the past to stop. That "indifferent" look, perhaps an invisible stone, inadvertently stirred a pool of spring water in anonymous's heart. It is this trick that Bo in the next class captured the most beautiful spring in the class.

Corresponding to singing morning songs and evening songs, it is "Youth Nighttalk". After the evening self-study, the dormitory area will hardly be quiet for half an hour after the lights are turned off. In the dormitory, everyone is talking with black eyes open in the dark. There are many topics, covering a wide range, including state visits, world cup football and complaints about insufficient meal tickets. But it's still the love that I don't understand. Those hazy feelings, firmly grasp the heart of action, slowly fall asleep in the middle of the night.

Poetry is another string of youthful notes on campus in the late 1980s. Just like young people are riding online games now. At that time, poetry was accompanied by youth and trembled throughout the lush season. Poetry belongs to young people. In the poetic campus, reading, writing and talking about poems have become the most respectable fashion for young people. It is also a good reason for a group of boys and girls to get together.

It is often initiated by a "poet" to create a trendy and weird name. Several literary friends volunteered to save a few big meals, put together some pen and ink, and the "so-and-so poetry club" was announced. The shelf was put up, and then the newspaper was published by poetry as the medium. Except for a few experienced and senior poets who have some decent poems, many "newcomers" have to cram for the last minute. Poetry is born of emotion, and everyone is scratching their stomachs. Just like "worrying about adding new words", they rustled their sentimental spring worries and secrets into some poetic sentences by candlelight at night.

At that time, there was no typing and copying, whether inside or outside the school. Students who write two words well are miserable. They just carved everyone's poems on wax paper one by one, and then went to the school's oil room to print them by hand with the oldest equipment. Because they are not professional enough, they often make everyone covered in ink, and some even make a big scene, making everyone laugh their heads off. The laughter rippling in the quiet night and the scene of everyone splashing ink are still ringing in my ears and vivid. The next morning, the brothers of the poetry club were red-eyed and submitted Mo Xiang's poems to various classes. The faint sadness of youth, the faint sadness, floated to every corner of the campus with the fragrance of ink.

I was brought into the poetry club by the spring of the next bed. I didn't know poetry before. At that time, I was young, I didn't understand sadness, and I had no secrets. What are you writing? I thought about it and wrote down my father's footprints. But unexpectedly, a few words of poetic vernacular were recommended by the teacher, published in the newspaper, and became my debut, which opened me up to express my passion in words. So far, if I get the treasure, I have posted that poem on the title page of my diary, which has already turned yellow.

Poetry breeds passion. Because of an atmosphere and a goal, none of us are afraid of falling behind. Spring and I never let go of any gap after class, plunged into the school reading room, and half an hour before the lights were turned off in the evening self-study, we broke into the boys' dormitory with poems, and asked the senior poets to point out and correct me. I don't know whose feet stink like rotten beans in the dormitory, but the shining light in everyone's eyes and the longing for poetic truth have drowned everything. Talking about the pure sacredness of poetry has long been better than talking about me.

The days passed slowly in boredom and tension. Unconsciously, the sisters in the same room have all blossomed. Finally, Chun couldn't resist the charm of poetry, dropped his guitar and caught up with the poet. Only I didn't care, pretending to be naive, playing tricks on the teacher and making the whole class laugh.

I thought I had gone through my youth so innocently and carefree, but poetry is a jade finger that plucks the strings of love after all. In the autumn of graduation, when the leaves on the treetops fell one after another, my heart was finally blown all over the floor by the autumn wind. The poet who made my heart beat was very brave. Finally, in the dusk of a sky full of Phnom Penh and many poems written for me, he read poems to me on the playground lawn. In the infinite feeling of first love, for a moment, I remembered my mother's teachings. Finally, calmness and rationality restrained passion and romance. I firmly avoided that unrealistic love. Pack your bags and leave alone in pain. Since then, we have lived far apart, but we will never forget it.

Twenty years have passed. Chun pursued love, went to another city, worked side by side with the poet and became a great official. Yan's child passed the college entrance examination, but she became an old woman. Mei and the monitor are tied together, vaguely resentful and depressed. Poetry has gone away from the world, and everyone lives a quiet and ordinary life.

And I still have an inch of space in my heart, a little naive and a dream. On that day, Yong came to my city on business. When we met, apart from a little touched, we were not as excited as we thought. The wheel of time has wrapped the passionate heart tightly. At that moment, I remembered a sentence that Zhang Ailing once said: "Thirty years later, no matter how good the moonlight is, it is a bit bleak." Yes, twenty years have passed, and the deep-rooted feeling in my heart is indifferent after all.

Recalling the lost youth, I began to understand. The greatest charm comes from imperfection, the deepest emotion comes from not possessing, and the most beautiful scenery sometimes lies in giving up.

That youthful encounter was not when I met you at my most beautiful time, but when you put on a poetic dress for me.

Loved once.

There are two people who love each other, one proposes to break up, and the other is definitely painful. However, no matter how painful it is, when breaking up, don't talk hard with the person who once loved you and your love. Think about it, the person who can hurt you in this world must be the person you love; The person who can hurt you must be the one who loves you. Otherwise, how could he have a chance to carve a scar in your heart? How can he let you float and sink in boundless love?

If it is destiny takes a hand to break up, what's the use of gnashing your teeth and saying those ridiculous malicious words? Now that people have let go, you should stop deceiving yourself with that insignificant feeling. Everyone knows that falling in love is always simple and getting along is too difficult. Get along for a long time, the flame passion will naturally be dull. Love and dullness are twins. In this way, it is not surprising that a sad story happened between two people who once loved each other.

Love, originally a happy thing, has now become the saddest thing. Do you think it's only one party's responsibility? Modern love is not the age when parents have the final say; All freedom is in your own hands. How happy I am to hold hands with him. Break up now, maybe you did something to disappoint him. God gives everyone a one-way ticket to hell. The key is not to think of yourself as an angel, otherwise, broken wings sometimes hurt.

Don't believe the popular song "My heart is only understood by you", it's a lie. A person's heart is cut out, put in the palm of his hand, and then put on a peephole of 12000 degrees, you can't see what's inside. Besides, his heart is well wrapped in thick flesh. Imagine, if your heart is really only understood by him, then he left you, and no one will understand you in this life? A life that no one understands is a poor life, a sad life, and a life that doesn't care about life and death. Do you want to live for only one person in your life? When you meet such a person, you might as well sing in the opposite direction: "Only you don't understand in my heart."

Love is hard to tell right from wrong. If you distinguish it wisely, you should learn to forget it. Forgetting is a kind of mental metabolism, and an unforgettable brain, like a balloon that can only inhale but not exhale, will suffocate you sooner or later. In fact, as long as you know, not all feelings can be lingering; Not all encounters can go together; Not all love can last forever; Do it. Lovers can go, but once family ties can't be taken away. In the face of turning love, it is better to say "Go all the way" sincerely than to say hard words.

Many people open their mouths and shout: I have no regrets when I love! Actually, it's all self-deception I gave, hoping for something in return. People's hearts are all fleshy, and it is not shameful to have such an idea. Just like some people, they clearly love each other, but they insist on saying hate. At this time, hate is like a layer of butter on the surface of love, covering up the truth. Otherwise, when the fire of love goes out, the pain will not burn. However, don't let the pain burn your brain, don't be a stupid woman or a stupid man when you break up, and especially don't let the other person feel glad that he chose to leave you at that time.

The opposite of love is hate, and the positive of hate is love. A word from fate will reverse the pros and cons to some extent. Love is like chocolate. If you eat too fast, the time to taste the sweetness will be shortened. If you eat too slowly, the rest will melt; Hate is like wine. If you drink too fast, it will make you intoxicated and hurt your stomach. Drink too slowly and feel weak. If you can't eat your love properly, drink your hate properly and let it develop, it will become as smelly and poisonous as distiller's grains sooner or later, which will do great harm to your health.

When a relationship comes to an end, don't pour ruthless saliva on it to prove your abandonment pain and innocence. If you do this, your wound will heal faster; Let your mind balance a little; Shorten the time for you to find yourself again, then, you will spare no effort to shoot the people who once loved you and the people you once loved! You must aim at close range and try to ensure that the bullet is not empty when shooting, which is fatal. I have long heard that "it takes 800 to kill a thousand people." Don't believe the malicious words in your mouth, and your heart doesn't hurt at all while making the other person feel ashamed?

If you really hate him from the bottom of your heart, you don't really love him at all. You're just used to him hanging around you all day. His role is just a spare tire. Since I can't get your attention, people choose to serve other cars. What is your reluctance and imbalance?

Wounds are notes of love, and many contents recorded in them need to be forgotten for a lifetime. Isn't it worth cherishing the feelings that can accompany you all your life? Pain is an important wealth in life, so don't trample it easily; People who once loved you must have been predestined friends with you in a previous life. Don't insult them with words. If he really failed you in this life, it is because you failed him in a previous life, and the world of mortals no longer needs to count.

Who lurks in the soft corner?

The autumn rain is continuous. Such a day, bleak and bleak. This is the emotion of the past. Most of these emotions are related to nostalgia. Those who never come back in the rainy season, those who walk far or near but get lost. Often on such days, people's hearts are wet.

Shelley, who was a blogger in those days, said, "The more experiences, the easier it is to feel sad, and the more vulnerable corners there are." Soft corner, these words quite touched my heart. Although I occasionally ran into Shelley's blog when I first started blogging, I felt at home with his writing, his wisdom, his outstanding talent and acumen. A net-blind person is entering and leaving his space at will. Shelley and I are more like old friends far away. If we can read his article, we will see traces of his visit. This kind of communication has become a tacit habit.

I finally became popular and changed my name, Zhou Jia girl. Shelley left quietly. I used to look for him with great care, but Leng Cha is still non-trace. Occasionally I stare at his blog and think: If he comes back, he won't know me. He knows my earliest name. I will be a wonderful layman in the future. I will always be a stranger to Zhou's girl from now on. Then it faded, just like many old people's stories.

Many times, people we thought would live and die with * * * * forever are often forgotten the fastest; And the people we thought passed by have been lurking in your heart for a long time. Like Shelley in those days. Last night, I saw his traces on my blog. In fact, I really want to cry, heartless and unscrupulous.

Following his footsteps, I found that he brought a lot of new tea. By the time he served tea, I had changed my old appearance. If you miss him and read my handwriting, you must think I'm not the person he remembers, right?

I always thought he was a wise elder. Because of his words, I have been deeply inhaling oxygen and constantly absorbing the nutrition I need. After careful reading, I realized that he was very young and would soon become a father.

The birth of a new life is a glorious happiness. In the dead of night, I left the computer, looked at the dark night, stared at the distance, and thought aimlessly, what kind of face would Shelley be when he became a father one day?

Nailed Shelley's blog post "Original Scenery of Hometown", I couldn't help but leave a message: There is always a touch of sadness. In other words, hometown is a sad word. At least, I am. I haven't come for a long time. I used to come here often, but my old friend didn't see me. I thought I was leaving. But I didn't expect to come back. I'm so happy. Greetings, autumn comes and winter comes, until the four seasons are safe after a long time.

Shelley replied to me: The more experiences, the easier it is to feel sad, and the more vulnerable corners there are. I went to your place for tea last night, and I felt how time flies. The same regards to old friends, happiness, happiness and health.