If one day I pick up a pen and I don't know what to write, then I think I can end this life.

I didn't want to know the true meaning of life, but I didn't have the courage to pursue it, because I wasn't sure if I could accept it.

I love everyone I love, but I don't necessarily love everyone who loves me.

In life, every moment of the scenery deserves to be recorded, but I am a person who is too lazy to write, only a few notes to chat for comfort.

Do I love life? If you ask this, you have to discuss what life is and what is love, so why don't you ask: What if one day you can't keep writing?

I often boast that I know how to live, and I am indiscriminately interested in swimming in the bitter sea of life, looking for a bright flower, which must be extremely gorgeous, rooted in the sea of suffering, gathering many sufferings, blooming the flowers of suffering, but the precipitation of life.

But I searched for nothing, but found nothing.

Until one day, I lowered my head, wept, hazy eyes, saw an inconspicuous little flower, at this time my heart was surging, I thought all this is the best arrangement.

The small flowers, floating on the bitter sea like duckweed, and the pure white flowers seem to be unruly against fate, which is extraordinarily enchanting and eye-catching.

Raise your eyes again, and the sea of bitterness has dried up, leaving an endless sea of flowers, which is intoxicating.

I was lucky enough to swim in the sea of flowers today, and I don't know when I will meet another person in the sea of flowers.

"One day at a time" If there is a day in the hand, please wait a while,

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