You remember what kind of ring she wears on her left hand, but you don't remember joking with me about the book you read. I am willing to go to the glacier to try desperately when my hair is gray, but I am not willing to go with me to take a bend by the flat lake outside my house. I can push everything while listening to you talk about the things you're immersed in, but you can go back to your old love after the passion in the middle of the night. You lied to me to buy parts, smoked again behind my back, turned against everything you told me you liked before... When I asked you "If your ex was still around, would you marry her?" ”, you are firm and repeating an affirmative answer.
I got your people, but never got your heart.
Sometimes, marriage really has nothing to do with love. Like the battle in 1804 that the heroine mentioned when she started to pick a banquet venue: the heroine asked, "Isn't the general killed?", but people still "dressed in their most appropriate dresses" to celebrate— — After all, the war was won. I humbly think that this little detail is enough to explain everything.
Love really is possession. If you really love someone enough, you can tolerate all his shortcomings, but you can't tolerate any impurities in your heart. Like a mirror once broken, it can never be returned.
But, all of the above will only make me more aware of how I should love him.
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