If this love does not belong to you, then please let go of your hand. Loving until it hurts, hurting until it makes you cry, and then choosing to let go. Letting go is an expression of helpless disappointment, a pain that cuts deep to the heart. When people who were once as precious as life itself are about to become strangers, one suddenly realizes: originally, what was thought to be eternal, was in fact just a fleeting encounter. What was believed to be a lifelong hand-holding journey turns out to be just two parallel lines crossing accidentally; when all dissipates like smoke, the lines remain parallel, even if they are close, they are already worlds apart.
The price of bravery is putting yourself down first, admitting failure, accepting helplessness, sighing gently, and blessing him with future happiness and peace. From then on, the heart becomes still, hard to stir again. Curling up in a corner, waiting for the wounds to heal, experiencing the freedom of loving and hating and losing. The feeling of happiness may only last for a moment, after which comes solitude and brilliance.
After letting go, life often feels joyless. One might inexplicably cry over a song, a movie, or even a phrase, always feeling the sky is dark, the clouds are gray, always feeling the loss of meaning in life.
But friends tell me: "You haven't lost anything; you've just returned to the days before you met him."
I find peace. Just like fireworks can't stay forever in the sky, as long as they have been brilliant, why cling to the days without fireworks? We are all ordinary men and women, unable to escape the entanglements of love and hatred, unable to avoid the whirlpool of loving and being loved. After heartbreak, endless loneliness follows. Lonely? Perhaps. But savoring the freedom after loneliness, thinking of the happiness beyond him, realizing no longer needing to rack one's brain guessing his thoughts, wouldn't one exhale lightly and feel a bit lighter?
Is it really letting go? Can I face him calmly, even though there’s a faint, indescribable ache in my heart? But I no longer shed tears; sobbing is because memories linger in my heart, refusing to fade no matter how.
There's a song called "Are You Afraid to Love Me?" It goes: "Are you afraid to love me, have you forgotten your tears? My heart waits while the rain falls, hot tears stream down my cheeks; Are you afraid to love me, has your heart died? One more step, and it would be a cliff." I ask myself repeatedly: "Am I afraid to love you?" The answer is certain—yes, I am truly afraid.
A heart battered by countless wounds becomes too weak to endure further torment, so I release you and give myself a way out. I transform you into a painting, deeply etched in my mind. I look at it, think about it, but I won’t be the person in the painting anymore. Standing outside the painting allows one to better appreciate its beauty, doesn't it? A firm handshake, a sincere farewell: "Goodbye, take care!" Turning around and walking away gracefully, leaving a deep impression in your mind. When you can recall your past moments with a calm heart, you will understand the beauty of letting go.
God made me meet you at the wrong time, and I cried; yet God is fair. If He lets me leave you at the right time, would you cry?
I don't know what I want to say, just feeling a bit uneasy. I don't know what I want to do, just feeling a bit helpless. Maybe it's a coincidence, maybe it was meant to be this way. I haven't remembered something for a long time. Facing is just trivial chores, the clear edges and I are so far apart~ Wanting to find space for memories, but the soul seems locked up, impossible to open.
It turns out there is no such thing as suitability or unsuitability, only cherishing or not cherishing.
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- There is indeed no such thing as suitability or unsuitability, only cherishing or not cherishing.
- Haha`~ Someone understands, touching stories!