Love is as beautiful as a rose
She once wrote this sentence: Love is a beautiful song, but it is also a journey of arduous steps and life. When will my happiness come, and where will it be my home? Looking up at the vast sky, I couldn't help but shed tears of sadness. Happiness is like a rose, if you want it, you must work hard. The music composed with sweat and the difficult to play piano, I think this is all the meaning of love.
They used to love each other very much.
They are engaged. Although his family is very opposed.
He didn't go to see her for a long time afterwards. She should have blamed him, blamed his silence, blamed his weakness. But she still loves him. Someone said he was pursuing another girl, but she didn't believe him and never believed him.
Her life is very hard. There are many brothers and sisters and contradictions in her family. She lives with her fourth brother and fourth sister-in-law, but her mother is getting older and still has to worry about her affairs.
Life is a long river, and fate is its diversion. It is full of twists and turns, rapids, waves, and dangerous rapids, playing tricks on every living person. Although it was tough, she was as strong as she was. Poverty, poverty, illness, worries, and nothing in life could defeat her. She just endured the torment of longing, endured the gossip of others, and obeyed her love for him. She is the kind of person who is determined and not easily changed.
In the following two months, he didn't look for her. She thought of divorcing. Yes, she doesn't want to get along so vaguely, nor does she want to be looked down upon by his family like that. She's not afraid to wait, but she needs an explanation!
A friend helped her invite him out. It's been over two months since we last saw each other. He's lost weight and looks a bit weathered. He didn't want to confide in her. He said even if he did, she wouldn't believe him or be of any help. He said he was very poor now.
She was angry and asked him if he was willing to withdraw from the marriage.
He replied, if you are willing, I am willing.
She thought maybe they should really go their separate ways.
Months have passed in a blink of an eye. She's sick. The doctor said it was caused by neurological weakness, mental depression, and lack of sleep. She has a severe headache, but can only go to see a doctor alone. She doesn't know who to confide in about the sadness and suffering in her heart.
She was angry with him and blamed him, but she couldn't forget him in the end. In fact, she knew in her heart that her love had no way out. I will always think of him intentionally or unintentionally, be considerate of his current situation, feel melancholy for his loneliness and confusion, feel sorry for his pain, and want to be his strength.
Day after day of hard work, day after day of lonely longing, has arrived, and a new year has begun. In these days, despite her hatred towards the cruelty of fate, she never gave up on her own preservation. Because life is long, she has her hope. She couldn't forget that north wind day. They met and talked a lot, and she knew he still loved her as before. They went to the movies all the way, holding hands and embracing happily.
He escorted her home, but insisted on not entering the house, so they chatted for over two hours by the vegetable garden. When he was about to leave, she felt heartbroken that he had to walk such a long way home on such a cold day.
Afterwards, they got married. Although his family still opposed it and they didn't even have a decent wedding, she still felt like the happiest woman in the world.
She is my mother, and he is my father. When I told my friend about their story, he said, "Love is as beautiful as a rose. Although roses have thorns, it doesn't stop people from loving them because they are really beautiful. I wish my tears could turn into crystal clear dewdrops and hang on the petals of the rose, keeping it bright forever
Perhaps time will eventually change the appearance of lovers, but the beauty of love, like the blooming rose, always has a beautiful soul, so even in pain, people cannot help but touch it. On the rose blooming hill, I seem to still hear my father reciting the poem he wrote to my mother:
In this quiet night
Let's spend some leisure time together
Don't say, don't move, don't think
Just like this, it's quiet
Forget the world
In this quiet night
Silver moonlight scattered all over the wilderness
Don't say, don't move, don't think
Just like this, it's quiet
Looking at each other with relative gaze