A friend is a kind of unique gentleness

I always feel that having friends, having the love of friends, and having love for friends should be a very gentle thing. Sometimes, when reading under the lamp, I get distracted, thinking of one friend after another, recalling many shared experiences, remembering words once spoken, and that kind of gentleness immediately surrounds you. In such a late night, it makes you intoxicated, comforted, and happy.\Perhaps friends shouldn't be so important, yet friends really are so important. Because in our lives, perhaps we can go without being moved, without victories, without other things, but what we cannot go without is friends.\What are friends? They are those you can walk together in the rain under an umbrella; those you can ride a bike together on the road at full speed; those with whom you can immerse yourself in the gym or a bar; those with whom you can wander through stores or street corners. Friends are those with whom you cry when sad, laugh when happy, play games together, listen to good songs together…\Friends are those you often think about, caring for them in your heart, keeping them in your eyes; friends are those who accompany you through one stage of life after another, walking hand in hand through one dusk after another; they are those with whom you share both sweet and bitter times, who stand by you through storms. Friends bring joy when remembered, bring more gentleness when recalled.\Friends are like fine wine, rich in flavor and intoxicating; friends are like the fragrance of flowers, fragrant and elegant; friends are like the autumn rain, delicate and full of poetry; friends are like the plum blossoms in December, pure and standing proudly.\Friends are not paintings, yet they are more splendid than paintings; friends are not songs, yet they are more touching than songs; friends should be poetry—with the elegance of poetry; friends should be a dream—with the beauty of dreams; friends should even be a meaningful prose, writing about yesterday while looking forward to tomorrow.\Friends are a special kind of gentleness.\The beauty of friends is not in the long future; the truest friends are the eternity in a moment, the instant of mutual understanding.\The value of friends is not because of the years once spent together; the rarest thing about friends is that even after parting, you still think of them, still remember: you are my friend.\Friends are a kind of gentleness, a special kind of gentleness.\Days with friends are always sunny, flowers bloom brightly. In the years with friends, the sky of your mood no longer rains, the heart no longer gets wet. Only when you have friends do you realize that you already have everything. We can lose many things, but what we cannot lose is friends.Friends are not eternal, and friends are only passersby in life, but they can make our lives beautiful because of coming together and parting ways. Even if there is no future, as long as we have friends, what is there to fear? At least, we have friends and the years spent alongside them. Sometimes, incompleteness is a kind of beauty, and distance is also a kind of beauty. Friendships do not mean there are no secrets; in fact, what friends need is simply sincerity toward each other. Friends do not need to account for everything in detail; otherwise, how could they truly be friends? Being with friends does not require every day and every moment, like continuous joy and sweetness. The truth of friendship lies in the understanding shared in a smile, and we do not need to expect friends to fully know or understand us. As long as we can remember 'this is my friend,' it is enough. The definition of a friend is both narrow and broad; it all depends on how you see it. The truth of friendship is a kind of selfish emotion, something that can cause heartache and heartbreak. The affection between friends is akin to both family love and romantic love. Friends are one of the most beautiful words in the world. Not everyone hopes for fame and success, but everyone hopes to have friends. Friendship is a kind of unique tenderness. — In memory of the encounters of fleeting years