I missed the romance of spring, the boldness of summer, the richness of autumn, the coldness of winter, and perhaps the gap between spring, summer, autumn and winter.
Miss the innocence of childhood, miss the ignorance of teenagers, miss the excitement of teenagers, miss the dignity of middle age, and maybe the peace of old age.
I missed two childhood conjectures, my first love, my love for each other, my intimacy, and perhaps meeting and knowing each other beyond reality and spirit.
There will always be so many misses in life, sometimes it will make the cloud cry, the wind stop, the spring, summer, autumn and winter stagnate, and life will be full of affection. Anyone who has suffered from missing knows that missing for a while may lead to loneliness all his life. But what can we do? People can't let themselves live in emotions.
In this world, there are countless spring rains, countless mornings, countless fallen leaves and countless heavy snows. I missed more than one. There are countless kinds of perfection, and not everyone is perfect; Countless defects, each with a defect.
There are so many things to miss in life, so many troubles, so many helplessness. Inadvertently, many beautiful memories passed us by, blowing in the wind. But we might as well think of it this way. It is because of missing that everything seems so emotional, unforgettable and precious to you. If it becomes a reality forever, looking back, maybe everything seems so dull.
Therefore, in a sense, missing is actually a new life and a different kind of beauty. Just as Venus is beautiful because she lacks arms, we find perfection because we choose too many misses. If it weren't for this past missing, how could there be missing in the dusty heart? How can there be buds blooming quietly on the emotional wasteland?
Then let's take missing as a kind of beauty. Let's turn this yearning into a diamond in the depths of our thoughts, quietly collect it in the deepest part of our hearts, and show us that we are struggling forward with hope and longing for the afterlife.
In every missed day, in every waiting moment, I live happily every day of my life. Can such a miss be understood as a different kind of beauty?