Recollection is a bridge, yet it leads to a lonely jail. A 700-word reading comprehension of "Historical Choice".
Even knowing it was wrong from the start, wrong in loving you too much, wrong in wanting to follow you for the rest of my life, you are the only person I deeply love in this lifetime.
You have intentions, he has none, loving someone who doesn't love you back is inherently unrewarding.
If he doesn't love you, you're destined not to enter his life.
Dreams have faded, hearts are broken, all that remains is preparing for departure.
Memories are like water spilled into your palm; whether you spread out or tightly clasp your hand, it will eventually flow through your fingers, drop by drop, cleaning away.
You are the prince I fabricated in my imagination, and I am merely a fleeting passerby in your life.
It takes one day to fall in love with someone, but a lifetime to forget them.
Perhaps loving him was just a stubbornness of my youth; I don't understand, but I believe time can prove it.
For memories of love, they should be treasured, but future happiness must be sought independently.
The wind stirs up the shattered years like blossoms, and your smile sways gently, becoming the most beautiful adornment in my destiny. Watching the sky, watching the snow, observing the deep shadows of the seasons.
Men are mud, women are water; too much mud makes the water murky, too much water makes the mud thin; neither too much nor too little, they form two clay figures.
Loving the person you love is itself a kind of happiness; you can remember the past's beauty.
Longing quietly dissipates among the crowd, unseen by anyone! Yearning is a breathing pain, instantly evaporating, letting impossibilities disperse as well!
The devoted one is destined to be hurt the most, anciently unfeeling always ends up empty-handed.
Missing sunrise can be waited for, missing beautiful scenery can come again, missing meteors can be anticipated, but missed love won't return! Cherish those around you, especially those you love and who love you.
When the last note sounds, longing is forced to draw a pause mark, even the most beautiful sentences must end with a period. However, this does not signify an end, but rather the continuation of another sorrow.
Passing by each other is also a deep form of fate.
Regrets of this lifetime, China's earliest narrative poem, without beginning, it has already ended with him, thus passing each other by. He becomes the most familiar stranger to me.
Loving someone doesn't mean owning them, silently gazing at them from afar is enough to satisfy.
How bitter it is to love someone is something only I truly understand, having sacrificed my entire youth, it turns out to be just a mistake, I didn't want to pretend to be confused but had no choice but to admit defeat. Missed lovers, who else can hold on to them? I could only pretend to be happy, pretending to be content, with tears unable to be held back in my heart…
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