5 essays on ancient sentimental prose

The sadness in a person's heart is like a floating soul. Without the other side of the heart, it is an irrational sadness. Below are some sad prose essays about ancient style that I compiled for you. You are welcome to read them.

Part 1 of an ancient sentimental prose essay: Looking at the end of the world, the cherry blossoms are falling

A song of music looks at the prodigal son in the end of the world, riding a horse and whipping, but looking at the bustling cities in the world and the cherry blossoms on the streets. The wind and rain are falling in the cold weather, and the wooden swing is too late to pass by. I am filled with sorrow, dreaming of the barbaric world, smelling the fragrance of osmanthus in the autumn, and smelling the mist of the flower city ten miles away. In my dream, I dream of cherry blossoms under the thin snow and rocks in the melancholy wind.

Flowers fall in the light rain at the beginning of spring, at the fingertips of the fields and ridges on the road, wandering alone, who is the poet in the world, searching alone for the whole life, wooden plank stone bridge, misty rain in the south of the Yangtze River, Liuxi River, winding bamboo trees, in front Halls and pavilions, a small southern town, are haunted by nightmares. A young man from Chang'an in the north of the city, wearing a gauze in the autumn wind, alone by the river, who is whose bright moon in the horizon, Chanjuan passed by, holding hands and embracing each other all their lives, dew on the top of the grass, questioning with tearful eyes, under the autumn wind and moon, cool breeze, rocks, wild pasture, northern country The scenery is covered in ice and dust.

At the end of summer, the boat sings late, the bells of the awning are melancholy, the crows are old and the trees are old, who is the passer-by in Xiaoxiang, thousands of mountains are covered with snow at dusk, the railings of the vast sea, the lava mountain pass, the trees are curling, and the rocks are circling , on the Cherry Blossom Mountain, the rain falls one after another, and the grass is towering, entangled with the falling rain, and the heart is hanging. The lanterns on both sides of the city are interspersed with the desolation of the ground, the fields are dripping with rain, the dusk is yellow, the parrot island is full of mountains, the south pavilion is warm, the daylight is on at the beginning, the twilight is cold, and I am spending my leisure time studying in the late summer.

The fleeting wooden bed, the first tide of the bright moon, the faint rhyme of the lights, the lonely lantern in the horizon, the autumn grass, the fields, the cattle, the wheat wooden bridge, the street trees are green, the crops and grass are yellow, and the passing years are thin , Looking at you from the end of the world, the cherry blossoms are falling in the rain, who is in the rainy season, and it is difficult to repay the sadness. For the encounter, for the fleeting time of meeting, being together is fate after all.

In autumn, the weeds wither, the corn and wheat are orange, and the autumn vegetables are white and ducky. Who makes someone’s heart knotted with sorrow? I have been boating for many times in my life. Under the rocks in Chang’an, the autumn waves are full, the river tide is rising, and the plain clothes are Bracelet, in the light wind, the sea water is rippling, but you can see the green mountains and green daisy. Far up the cold mountain stone path, there are maples and carts, frost is red in February, the rain is in the heart of the empty mountain, the cherry blossoms are lonely, the trees are withered, the weather is late autumn, and the fishing fires are light to bring me to sleep.

At the end of winter, the setting sun is beautiful, the streets are covered with frost and snow, the moon is setting, and the crows are crying. Whoever wants to collect their thoughts, the weeds disappear in the dusk, looking at the end of the world, the cherry blossoms are covered with frost, the breeze is sad, and the bright moon Desolate, lonely city with old trees, dim crows in the moonlight, and the setting sun casting snow in the night. The moon is entangled in dreams at night, the pines and cypresses are mossed, and the weeds have disappeared. The world is cold and cold. Looking at you from the end of the world, the cherry blossoms are falling in the rain, and the whole life is lingering.

Part 2 of the sentimental prose essay about the ancient style: Fighting with a sword to the end of the world, blocked by a piece of paper

Zisha Yanguan, the war is poisoning the Central Plains of the Five Mountains, wielding a sword, a halberd, a saddle, and a sword to the end of the world; fighting on the battlefield , the soldier's armor was withered and disheartened, he took a piece of yellow sand vine leather whip to block him.

Yunling Qinhai, waves of rocks, towering cypresses, cantilevered ancient pines, steaming indigo in the mountains; flowing springs on isolated peaks, repeated waterfalls, cries of sparrows, hungry for food off the cliffs, and hundreds of wild geese trees. Rong; The stone peaks of the Chu forest are all dressed in white. The rain and mist are thick, and the music is high and the strings are low.

, the wind howls, yellow sand and stones, withered corpses of ants; under the moonlight, I am moored in the mirror, often walking on the Qinghu Lake, a black-topped passenger boat, traveling by the stone stream, a thin smoke, shallow mountains and rivers and long sand.

Fighting with a sword at the end of the world, a piece of paper seals the world, the frost and snow fall on the moon, cicadas flap their wings, the bones of the Xiaoshan Mountain stand, the swordsman in the sky stands alone, the stone cliffs of Tongshan Mountain, the trees are mute, the rivers and lakes are threatening, the sea is full of springs, On the paper of the motherland, there are seven unique rivers and mountains that span the world. The pines and cypresses in the southern mountains are mixed with branches. The orchids in the northern river are fragrant and fragrant. The ancient towns in the south of the Yangtze River have white walls and green tiles. The wild geese outside the Great Wall are purple. The old sands of Luo Mo.

The lotuses are moving in the moonlight, the boat is under the fish, the pond is full of wind and lotuses, the haggard Hunan is lost, the shrimps and crabs are in the glacier, the iron horse is dreaming, the moon is fading, speeding through the dark forest at night; the breeze is exposed, the green grass is hanging, and the embroidery words are Veined leaves, birds are idle, branches are clinging, dew is unbalanced, poetry is leaning on the railing, and the fog and rain are counting the wet dreams.

Waiting for the day, the ink stone is ice-hard, the bronze battle armor, the halberd and the sword, the yellow sand and Han fort, the flying swallows, riding the horse on the battlefield, touching the blood of the brave men; Xiaoshan spear stone, Youling Inn, cracking the whip Wilderness, ridges covered with snow and frost, swords drawn to the horizon, sealed with a piece of paper, and buried in lonely graves in the countryside.

Part 3 of the sentimental prose essay about the ancient style: Farewell today, never forget it

It used to rain heavily during the yellow flower season, but today the wind blows the grass and makes it very sad. I don’t know that in the Ming Dynasty, the sweetheart promised each other again, but it was hurt to be alone in the sunset and lose my companion. If romance is just a illusory dream, it is inseparable from the mountains and stones of the past. The joys and sorrows of two people are all due to being in love. If you love forever, don't worry about the fate of your heart!

Fireworks pass by in March, snow falls in April, hibiscus and osmanthus fragrantly bloom in the moon, but I can't help but miss the day. Thoughts and thoughts are lingering in my heart, I have gone through hardships and soothed the vicissitudes of life. However, I have been able to rest between my pillows and sleep on the night of a romantic banquet. The moon is strange. It's hard on your heart, and there are cold tears in your eyes. However, temperaments are difficult to agree with, and God's will is unpredictable. Birds must eventually return to their nests. Lang Jin's tears are weak and the grass is weak. It is hard to express in his heart, and he whispers blessings.

Qingfeng cried to her lover: Today is a farewell, and it will never be forgotten.

Take it with you and prepare for it alone. Unexpectedly, the storm broke out, and this feeling suddenly became a memory. Who is speaking softly? The water passing east will never flow west again. I don't even have the imagination to dream about grass. I can still see my old ancestors when I add clothes. The pulse makes people sad! After seeing each other again, it is difficult to express many thoughts. Recalling the past of falling in love, if it is a quality, gold and jade cannot describe its nobleness; if it is a nature, ice and snow cannot describe its purity; if it is wisdom, the stars and moon cannot describe its essence; if it is appearance, the flowers and moon cannot describe its color. Beauty admires Yu Xian, and the world admires wisdom and virtue. Who would have thought that the doves hate their soaring, the hawks and birds of prey are overturned by the scorpions; the cogongrass is jealous of its fragrance, and the orchids are soared! The flowers are originally timid, but they can't fly wildly? The green willows are naturally sad, why shouldn't they stop the showers?

I occasionally heard rumors from the world, so I became discouraged. Therefore, the redness of the cherry lips is about to fade, and the rhyme expresses worries about tomorrow; the fragrance of the apricot face has withered, and the color is old. Thorns and hazelnuts spread all over the house. It is filled with misunderstandings and grievances, and my heart is trembling. After all the bitterness accumulated by oneself, who will pity her? When love is gone, heartbreak will be hard to reunite. If the fairy clouds have dispersed, the bright moon will be hard to find. Zhu Lei talks about her feelings, but feels suspicious in her heart. She only wishes that this is the case.

The rain hates the clouds, but the beauty still attracts pity. The eyebrows are smoky green, but the painting is still there yesterday; the jade ring on the ring is cold, who will warm the beauty today? The leftovers from the cauldron are still there, and the traces of tears on the lapel are still stained. The mirror separates the shadow of the luan, and I open the dowry of the past with sorrow; the comb transforms into a flying dragon, and I break the teeth of the sandalwood cloud with sorrow. At dawn in Shangcheng, there is a thin wisp of solitary smoke. Thinking about the past, I look back and smile, my lovely heart is full of tears, but now I hate to leave. The prodigal son looks at the bright moon in the sky. At this moment, who would lean on the fence? Leave the golden diamond in the grass, and pick up the green box in the dust. In the empty building, there are magpies, and their clothes are full of tears; with broken mandarin ducks, who can send them silk threads? Summer is a festival, so I have dreams, and there is no one in the empty room.

The green moon is dark, and the fragrant soul and the beautiful shadow disappear from the sight; the fragrance of the butterfly tent is lingering, and the delicate breath and delicate voice are exquisite. The grass is declining all day long, but only the grass is growing in the vast sky; the sad sounds from the ground are nothing more than the chirping of crickets. The dew moss was built late, and the poor curtain did not protect the cold anvil; the rain moss fell on the wall, and the whistle of complaint was rarely heard in the other courtyard. The fragrant name is not lost, the cranes and magpies are still calling in front of the eaves; the love at night is about to pass away, and the peach blossoms outside the threshold have faded. Behind the frivolous warm house, the lotus petals are silent; in front of the garden admiring the moon, the tranquility is in vain. Throw away the remaining embroidery thread, who will wear it for intimacy? Don't ask why your heart is broken, just think about Lang Jin's melancholy.

Now that I am gone, there are no tears, only love and hatred, and I will never look back. I hope that when we say goodbye to my beloved today, we will never forget or regret. If I look for it one day in the future, my eyes will be full of sad scenes, and the wind will laugh at dusk. Here is the ancient temple of Xifeng, flooded with stagnant green phosphorus, the setting sun on the barren hills, scattered white bones, rustling fortresses, hundreds of grasses clinging to them, the rustling of Chongqing and the rustling of moxa. Apes are crying through the mist, crows are singing at the graves, and ghosts are weeping around the smoke. How can I say that in the red gauze tent, I have deep thoughts about the rain; I first believe that in the loess, the man's life is short! Runan's tears and blood are scattered to the west wind; Zize is silent and complains to the cold moon. Although there are no mountains and mist, the fire is still there. My dear, don’t rush to the car and go to Songgang. Don’t go there and cry. Don’t think of your past feelings of violation. Don’t be ashamed of being caught in the same ashes. Don’t feel regret. , since I chose to hate separation, I have not softened my heart.

Don’t sigh: How can the sky be so blue, swimming alone in the sky, how can the earth be so vast, riding a Yao elephant down to the spring soil; looking at the land covered by the umbrella, suppressing the brilliance of the Jiwei, rows Yu Bao acts as the forerunner, and the guard is weak and weak at the side; drives the prosperity and prosperity as a shelter; looks at the moonlight as it approaches; listens to the track of the carriage and rides on it; drives the luan and the falcon to travel; smells the fragrance and floats, and the beasts and the dummies think of the wind. Borrow the vines to make the border, use the lotus flame to hold the candle orchid ointment; Wenhu is used as the vine, and the fern is sprinkled to float the other ferment. Looking at the clouds and gazing at the sky, it seems that there is something; bending over the ripples and listening to the ears, there is something in a trance. I heard that I was sweating endlessly, and I could not bear to abandon the rest in the dust; the graceful and honest man drove the car for me, and I took the bridle back with him. I was so grateful for it, but why did I do it? Qing died and slept for a long time, how could it be destiny? The change is like this, it is both pure and stable, but it is true and ridiculing; the rest is still shackles and hanging, the spirit is still sighing, and when it comes, it stops, and it comes.

If a thousand years later, the prodigal son lives in a peaceful place, in a quiet place, even if he is here, you will not see it. Can you warn the greedy sleep of the willow eyes and relieve the bitterness of the lotus heart? Can Siyu play the jade and play the sheng, and can the cold spring beat the cold. The dragon chants while diving in the red water, and the pearls and phoenixes gather in the forest. It starts from Xiacheng and returns to Xuanpu. It is microscopic but seems to be open, but it is dense and blocked again. There are clouds of clutches and clouds, and the sky is filled with mist and rain. The dust and haze gather the stars high, and the mountains and rivers are beautiful at noon. Why is it that people's hearts are pounding, as if they are so vivid when they are asleep? They are so sleepy, weeping and hesitating. The human words are silent and the sound of nature is clear. Birds flew away in fright, and fish chirped loudly. The mourning is a prayer, and the ceremony is auspicious. The mountains and hills are covered with lush grass, the breeze blows, and the lonely willow clings to it. Ten miles hurt the city, the haze is clear, the love is gone, and the sorrow is gone.

The things I chanted before are all just memories. Where is Siyu now? My heart is still waiting. If you are determined to leave, don’t worry about it. I wish you happiness forever. The prodigal son's unique words: Today's farewell will be unforgettable!

Part 4 of the sentimental prose essay about ancient style: Waiting colors the landscape.

Waiting for someone is as boring as The dark clouds are long and endless, and the whole life is just for that moment of reunion. Colorful flowers come and wait, just to mix the colors. Flowers bloom in the center of the eyebrows, and mountains and rivers pass by. In the hometown of dreams, spring is warm and flowers are blooming and spreading. Butterflies dance and orioles sing, and bees dance with the fragrance of flowers, urging red and green to bloom. , green over the ankles, waiting deep in my heart, you are coming, I am coming, fate is coming!

Waiting, like the waiting of blue and white porcelain, silently, listening quietly, That thousand-year-old voice calls out to the original window, and a taste remains in my heart.

Savoring the bright green bamboo forest, you once had your time, the fragrance is floating, the thoughts are in the center, the heart sounds, one you and one me, between heaven and earth, surrounded by green, fall into the sleeve of the thought. Waiting for the rippling circles to come to the small building where the fence is being built, the music and the harp playing together, all the dreams are the extravagant hopes of the mountains and rivers.

Waiting, splashing ink on the spring, summer, autumn and winter, writing about the picturesque landscape, a beautiful scene, which has changed thousands of times due to thoughts and thoughts, but there is only one color, which interprets the theme from beginning to end. The longing in the eyebrows is particularly heavy. Sometimes it's like the whispers of spring; sometimes it's like the romance of summer; sometimes it's quiet and peaceful like autumn; sometimes it's like the deep and heavy winter. Time removes makeup, but also for thoughts, leaving a trace of whiteness and silence, so that waiting can swim in the eyes. This feeling can wait, no matter when!

In spring, waiting quietly sprouts, and the heart is tender and green. After understanding the landscape, I mixed the colors one by one. There is tenderness in the pure heart, and it comes slowly, waiting for the spring breeze to turn into rain, moistening the small pond of thoughts, sprouting buds, blooming, lush green wall after wall. The landscapes and rivers of the colorful dream, combined with the pleasant wind, blow by, the waves of flowers rise and fall, and the light fragrance permeates each other's days, waiting and waiting for the flowers on the other side to bloom as scheduled when the water is green on the south bank of the river.

The spring-like waiting has not yet taken hold of my eyes. Xia’s footsteps are on the sniffing paper, and the smell quietly floats across the ocean, intensifying my longing. When it became so strong, a city of fragrance spread out among the blossoming flowers. The wind felt it, and the rain heard the strong thoughts, which were vividly felt all the way through the misty rain. The colorful colors against the green background, all kinds of uniqueness and charm, are all on the canvas of waiting, singing and dancing, chattering a ladle of warmth, thinking of it, the wind blows, the rain starts, the flowers are graceful!

Waiting, Sometimes it's like autumn, when the song ends and people disperse, retreat and dress up, yellow leaves are scattered all over the ground, the breeze passes by, the breeze is cool, and the thin rain and thin thoughts are twists and turns. The coldness of waiting poured into Xiao An's streets, where there were all sad colors and lingering thin figures. A lonely platform, alone, alone, just one person watching. The courtyard is deep and the yellow leaves are cold, waiting for the autumn wind and autumn rain, giving the missing moon a reverie of cold snow!

When the heart-warming water sinks in, the cold wind rustles, waiting for the indifference to turn into ice, and the hope to be dusty It's snowing, and the stop-and-go platform has been lonely for countless days and nights, waiting for a piece of paper to turn blank, just like winter. The tenderness between the fingers turned into numerous winds and snows, several wishes were in vain, cold loneliness came over me, desolate eyes, dejection, the wall that I couldn't get out of, endless, where to go, my thoughts were desolate, and I lost my direction.

Waiting is ever-changing, one stroke deeper, one stroke lighter, and the recorded melody sings the journey of life. How many flowers are blooming and how many prosperous endings are all splashed on this sentence of waiting. Whether the willows are green and the flowers are red, or the fallen leaves are returning to their roots, the clothes are always changing, sometimes charming, sometimes quiet and white. With a pen of thought, the wind and clouds change, and the landscape is colored one by one.

Waiting and coloring the landscape. The flowing thoughts pass through the waiting corridor, step through the alleys with white walls and black tiles, and squeeze through the urban fireworks with a sea of ??people. There is always a romance, which is the first window of the flowers on the other side; there is always a city of fireworks, which is the bride of the distant mountains. ;There is always a corner to adjust the color for this, and wait for the flowers to bloom!

Part 5 of ancient sad prose essays: a love story that has been passed down for thousands of years

The vast universe During this time, the ancient years traveled through the thousand-year time tunnel, shuttling through the pages of yellowed books, whispering all the way about the long past carved in the depths of time for thousands of years, coming towards you and me. In the quiet of the night, I opened a page of the Yellow Book of Songs, letting the fragrance of the book carry my thoughts through the darkness of the night, to appreciate an ancient past event that had long been buried in the dust of the years.

The early morning light quietly enveloped the simple and simple village. Among the bright, tender and lush mulberry trees, the sound of turtle doves was heard. Next to the quietly flowing Qishui, I saw a The figure of the woman is as graceful as a hibiscus, her pupils are as quiet as orchids. There is a simple wooden hairpin on the top of her waist-length hair. She is wearing a blue coarse cloth jacket. She is holding carefully woven silk. She stands under the mulberry tree and looks up, with unconcealed joy in her clear eyes. Looking at the bank of Qishui, the figure who was missing him could not help but frown slightly, his neck grew longer, and he murmured to himself, "Why hasn't he come yet? Why hasn't he come yet?"

For a long time Seeing the figure gradually appearing not far away, she couldn't help but smile and was filled with joy.

The man walked hurriedly, holding the cloth, and walked up to the woman with a naive smile on his face. He looked honest and honest. The dew in the morning wet his clothes, but he didn't know it. He just stared at her lovingly. Looking at the woman in front of him. The happy woman blushed and lowered her head, like a spring peach blossom waiting to bloom. She knew that today he was not exchanging cloth for silk, but that he came to discuss marriage with her.

As expected, the man asked her about her marriage. The woman lowered her head shyly and did not speak. She kept stirring her hair with her fingers. The man couldn't help but said anxiously. "Whether it's okay or not, you should say something. I swear that if I marry you, I will treat you well for the rest of my life!"

The woman still lowered her head and stirred her hair without saying a word.

It's not that she doesn't want to, but it's just her father and mother?

The man looked at the woman who lowered her head and felt extremely disappointed. Dunqiu glanced at the unhappy man, put aside his worries and said. "It's not that I deliberately delayed the time, but you don't have a matchmaker. Please don't be angry and just consider autumn as the wedding date!"

Hearing the woman's silver bell-like voice, the man couldn't help but be overjoyed, and then A smile appeared. So happy. "Really? In autumn, wait until I come to marry you, and I promise you that in your name, you will crown me as my own, and I will never let you down when you grow old!"

The woman was filled with joy after hearing this, and listened to the man's solemn promise. I couldn't help but giggle. On the mulberry tree above her head, a turtle dove was greedily eating the fresh and moist mulberries, making a happy chirping sound!

Since the wedding date was set, the woman was lovesick, and her days were like years, and she couldn't help but climb up every day. She went up to the collapsed wall next to the village and looked at Fuguan where the man lived. If she didn't see the man who lived in Fuguan coming to see her, tears would fall uncontrollably. If she saw her, she would be happy talking and laughing.

When autumn came, the man used tortoise shells and yarrow for divination, and there were no bad omens. The man's family was poor and there was no wedding party, so he used his car to pick up the woman. She was most affectionate and dressed in red, a little charming and a little sad. The woman resolutely ignored the dissuasion of her father and mother, tied up her black hair for him, wore a bright red wedding dress, brought her belongings, and married the loyal and honest man who promised her that she would never betray him forever.

The autumn scenery enters my heart, just because love is inseparable. The car passes through the dead leaves flying in the sky and slowly drives through the billowing Qishui, carrying the beautiful bride towards the happiness she longs for. A happy married life?

When you are newlywed, your husband loves your concubine and makes others envious. Although she lives a poor and restrained life, she can stay with the person she likes for a long time. The woman is content and has no complaints. She works hard every day, does housework, and honors her parents-in-law. The husband and wife, the man farming and the woman weaving, were very close to each other, and their originally poor life soon improved. The four seasons change, spring passes and autumn returns, but the woman who is immersed in a happy marriage has a slight sadness in her eyebrows. Her husband's sweet words slowly fade away in the waste of firewood, rice, oil, salt, sauce, vinegar and tea, and the love of her husband is gone. The concubine's love no longer existed under the pressure of time. I don't know when her husband gradually became cruel to her and yelled at her. She felt sorry for her husband's hard work and tolerated everything. She got up early every day and worked hard at weaving silk, thinking She wanted to help relieve her husband's burden, but her husband became more and more extravagant. At night, she brought him footbath water and washed his feet. He would violently kick the basin on her if it was slightly hot or cold. Not only did they insult her and sometimes beat her up, the woman's life became difficult and painful. The beautiful love in the past was polished by time and lost its gorgeous coat amidst the trivial matters of daily necessities, rice, oil and salt, leaving only her husband's Cold words, cruelty. When she returned to her parents' home, her brothers didn't understand her situation and laughed at her. The woman was mute and couldn't tell her pain because she was eating coptis. When she calmed down and thought about it, she could only shed tears alone. She can only hold on to the beautiful past of the past alone, living a hard life, looking forward to the day when he can remember his promise to her and give her a happy life, but she does not know that those beautiful promises of the past are like catkins in the wind. Where did it drift to? It was just that the speaker had no intention at the time, but the listener had intention?

The autumn wind rustled, the grass was luxuriant, the mulberry leaves were withered and yellow, and in the desolate and desolate scene of late autumn, the woman was covered with scars. After escaping the home that almost suffocated her, she came back to Qishui again. She saw her pale face and hair in the clear lake water, her clear eyes became cloudy, and her husband's rough treatment of her remained on her forehead. He looked exhausted, and his heart was extremely depressed. Now she is like her love that has long been in ruins. Time has torn apart the originally sweet and warm love in the trivialities of life, and spread it out in front of her with blood. The honest and honest man became violent and cruel after he got her. , treating her like a cow or a horse, driving and beating her arbitrarily. Only now did the woman realize that the beautiful life she longed for was just a mirror image. Love was dreamy and sweet, but marriage was realistic and cruel?

Things are different and people are not the same, she said. There was no fault at all, it was just that the man who had promised her a lifetime of happiness was so duplicitous and his behavior was inconsistent. He had no rules in love, and his feelings kept changing. Recalling his vow again, now it became the innocent ridicule she once had, and the woman felt infinite regret and sadness in her heart.

With tears in her eyes, she watched the leaves of the mulberry tree falling beside her, withered and yellow in color. The woman could not help but advise the turtledoves and all the women in the world with her own history of blood and tears. "When the leaves of the mulberry tree have not yet fallen, their leaves are fresh and moist. Alas, turtledoves, don't be greedy for mulberries. Alas, women in the world, don't indulge in love with men, lose your mind, and lose yourself. It's okay for men to indulge in love. Escape, but a woman cannot escape if she is addicted to love.

"

Her heart is bleeding, but love can never return to its original beauty. She is no longer young and young. She originally wanted to grow old with him, but now her desire to grow old together makes her resentful. What is before her eyes Although Qishui is wide, it has banks, and no matter how big the low, wet depression is, it has edges. I think of the two of them playing happily together when they were young, talking and laughing to their heart's content, and their vows were so sincere and sincere. I didn't expect that he would change his heart, and the beauty of the past was even more disappointing. She was heartbroken and disheartened. You broke your oath and didn't miss your old relationship, so forget it. The woman ignored the pressure of the world and vowed to break up with the ungrateful and ruthless man.

Suddenly. The ancient story came to an abrupt end, and there was a blank space behind the book, which stretched my long thoughts. Maybe the woman withstood the pressure of the world, successfully reconciled with the man, and gained freedom. Maybe the woman under the pressure of the world We can only swallow our anger and struggle in the dark marriage, or maybe the man wakes up and loves the woman as before. We have no way of knowing the woman's final ending, and we can only let our imagination fill in the unfinished ending of the story. After reading this. The joys and sorrows of others, but the short-term self is lost?

Life is a big dream, and the world has a few cool autumns. No matter how beautiful things are, it cannot withstand the ravages of the passing years, and no matter how sweet love is, it cannot withstand the ravages of life. The trivial and cruel time will tear apart all the beautiful things one by one and expose all the hidden filth. At the same time, time is also kind. It allows us to look at the bloody reality and understand that everything in the world is just like a dream or an illusion. Bubbles, you should leave yourself half awake, let nature take its course, and deal with it indifferently.