I need to trouble you all if I have something to do.
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What is love? At twenty, one is confused and naive, taking it step by step. By thirty, busy and restless, with no choice but to wait out this period, it's not too late to understand later. At forty, having seen and experienced too much, having heard too much, whether one understands or not is hard to say. People estimated to be over fifty, after menopause comes, after the hot flashes fade, in a daze, even more reluctant to pretend to understand what they don't.\However, for more than twenty years, in my heart, there has always been a song. A song without words, a song of passionate wasted years, a song that sings of one's own love, an original song copyrighted.\He and I were each other's first love. Embarrassingly, such a person, clear in love and hate, simple in thought, and pure in emotional experience. Two years of passionate love, inseparable. Until he went to Beijing for graduate school, longing traversing mountains and rivers, connecting a northern him and a southern me. At that time, love was the feeling of a heartbeat, holding hands tightly in this feeling.\Love is running on the railway, moving forward repeatedly. Love is a kind of urgency, the urgency of seeing oneself in the other's eyes. Love is yearning after entanglement, action after yearning, the need to carry the baggage to take love to a better place to take root and break through the soil.
Cough cough cough, the love letter is as follows: Ah! X X X, I love you! X X X, I really really love you so much! X X X, I want to pursue you!
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