, this love would be just a chewable memory in life.
Every city will meet one or two such women
. What makes her special?
And what about poets?
Aren't they the kind
of people who only have two points of love and act like ten points?
Love not only includes the sweetness of getting along,
but also parting lovesickness and speculation
, will we never meet again?
Could it be that I'm still thinking hard about
the nephrite and warm fragrance over there?
Was his departure deliberately arranged to get rid of me?
And what makes this more than just a memory? A piece of tidbits? An after-dinner talk?
Make greatness ridiculous?
The unease is getting stronger and stronger.
It 's
the death that makes the
object of love.
Only the passion in the heart
burns
until everything is destroyed . It's
ridiculous and pity
.
Call it love!
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