What is it like to be out of love? I have heard a lot of great truths, but I still can't forget that I am a scumbag.

I guess that's why a lot of songs, movies, and novels about broken love never go out of style. Success and failure are the main themes of life, whether it is in love or career, no matter what stage of life, no matter the gender gap between men and women.

A good friend has been stuck in various entanglements of broken love recently, and I have been thinking about it for a long time and I don't know how to help her. First, I don't think I need comfort but some form of help, and second, frankly, I don't have any good experience to deal with this matter.

I think the most painful thing in love is the moment of discouragement towards someone, not the day when you officially leave him.

As I often mentioned one summer night, I walked far, far along the Third Ring Road, and shed many, many tears. At that time, I didn't have a single friend in Beijing, standing on the overpass and looking at the long river of cars in Beijing, the shining lights, blurred by tears, wiped away by my hands, and disrupted by the new gushing out, and the cycle went on again and again.

That day, I couldn't find anyone to confide in that loss, no familiar bar to get drunk, no smartphone, no WeChat, no people nearby, no drifting bottles, and even a strange, distant ear was a luxury for me. I spent probably the coldest summer night of my life.

I'm not just standing on an overpass across the East Third Ring Road, I'm also standing on a self-improving single-plank bridge. On the one hand, there is a dying love, and on the other hand, there is the pressure of competition in the new workplace. I stood alone in the middle of the crack, struggling to move forward.

We didn't break up that day. I went to a nearby smoky Internet café to finish the overtime assignment assigned by my boss, and then went home alone in the early hours of the morning, trembling.

Suddenly, no longer frightened of the darkness in front of me, I numbly walked into the dilapidated community, walked through the corridor where the sensor light was broken, and walked through the darkness in my heart and in front of me like a chicken in the soup.

Those tears had soaked and crumpled all my fantasies about the future, turning them into a pile of soaked waste newspapers, and I could no longer make out the words, promises, and faces.

Since then, I have experienced many times when I was helpless, stabbed by a colleague, made difficult by a client, and deceived by a friend, but none of them can compare with that time.

I always felt like a part of myself was killed that day, that part of myself with cowardice, helplessness, and fear. Because since then there have never been so many tears, no more heart-rending pain, never so heavy and helpless again. I am no longer afraid of many things, I am not afraid of death, I am not afraid of crises, I am not afraid of poverty, I am not afraid of parting, I am not afraid of quarrels, I am not afraid of hysteria.

Dead love is like a nutritious fertilizer that can make a person strong.

And later, when I was really separated from this person, I just felt a sense of relief. Finally freed from a long, endless sense of loss, a sense of relief that outweighs the rest of the sadness of facing an unknown celibacy life.

Later, under the push of fate, he met other new lovers, and then separated again.

Of course, there are also people who come to life with the phone, eat popcorn by themselves in the movie theater and watch comedies that everyone laughs at, and finally wet the popcorn bucket with tears.

Often, I would not have the courage to go home from work and stay in the company to work overtime, I would not return to my room until I was too sleepy to open my eyes, I would ask friends out for a drink in my free night, wear short skirts, wear heavy makeup, joke with strangers, and finally get dizzy, go out to take a taxi and leave, sleep for a few hours, stay until the alarm clock rings several times, and then squeeze the morning rush hour subway with a hangover headache to go to the company and have my fingerprints on time.

There are also heroines who learn from "Thirty-three Days of Broken Love" who try to play new things to distract themselves, baking, dancing, music, traveling, and life is colorful and enviable. But there is a person who has been stuck in his heart, like a fish bone pierced in his throat, and no matter what he swallows, he is in sharp pain.

During that time, I also had a friend, I was out of love, and she was also out of love, and we stayed on the sofa in the corner of Starbucks on the weekend, drinking Frappuccino while having an ex-boyfriend criticism party. Speaking impassionedly for a while, he peeked at the little handsome guy sitting nearby, and the little handsome guy left and continued to criticize.

In the end, we will add another sentence when we go home, but I still like him, what should I do?

Later, we got tired of criticizing and didn't bother to talk about it, so we made an appointment to go out shopping together, buy clothes, eat, get nails done, and talk about new dates.

Later, we all had the work and things we loved that we were happy and loved, and we fished ourselves out of the quagmire of lovelorn. The days that followed were not as shattered as we imagined at the time, thinking that without one person, there would be no bright sun.

In the days of falling out of love, it is easy to feel like you are soaking in the cold seawater, cold from beginning to end, unable to climb out, thinking that you are just over, waiting for death in a daze.

Then I fell asleep and woke up to the warm sun on the beach, my clothes and hair were all dry, and I was surrounded by a new island. There are new opportunities in life around every corner.

It turns out that in addition to the person who is not worthy of regret and nostalgia, there is still a lot of space worth exploring.

I think that a person's healing ability is cultivated through constant injury. It's like exercising at the gym for the first time, and when you get home, your legs hurt so much that you can't walk down the stairs of the subway, but after persevering for a while, no matter how much the whole day of exercise makes a certain part of your body sore, it will be a full day when you wake up the next day.

In fact, I can't find any cheats and shortcuts to deal with the days after falling out of love, and everyone grows up by groping and taking detours.

But sooner or later, you can be strong and fearless in the face of everything, calmly dealing with the coming and leaving of a person.

You know, all happiness doesn't last long, and so does sadness. :