Excellent prose about love, if you are not here, he will be anxious, worried and sentimental, thinking about where you are with anxiety. Follow you on the way after school and have a look, although it's just the back. Let's share some excellent essays about love.
Excellent prose about love 1 prose about love 1
How lucky
Because I love you.
I miss you again and again in sleepless nights.
A dream of insomnia
Never hear your familiar laughter again.
Only the moonlight in the window
Spilled a faint sadness all over the floor.
Because I love you.
Wandering the streets at midnight again and again
Under the dim street lamp
Never see your warm figure again.
Only the night wind blows
Bring a jasmine fragrance
That's the smell of your hair.
That is a touch of fragrance in my heart.
Smell the flowers as if you were still by my side.
Under the flashing street lights
Jasmine flowers are still in bloom as scheduled.
And you, however, are gone.
Because I love you.
I cherish the past in my heart.
Every time I pass that intersection,
I'll think of you.
Because I love you.
I miss it day and night.
Essays on love 2
We miss every corner of the campus, just because we used to be her master, and of course she is also a witness of our youth, because we were seventeen or eighteen years old that year. We want to grow up as soon as possible, to get rid of flashy innocence, to think about love and to think about life. When we suddenly look back, we understand the beauty of that year and begin to miss the youth of that year and pay homage to the seventeen or eighteen years old of that year. But I can't go back. After all, at this moment, she no longer belongs to us, but only exists forever in that time called youth. Especially in a very old age, I had a shallow love and an ambiguous feeling.
That year, I was in your class, and we spent 300 unforgettable and beautiful days in ignorance. It seems that all the memories about you have a faint smell of raindrops and the fragrance of earth. It seems that you are as beautiful as raindrops, and what you bring me is always cool.
I know that our meeting was not fate, otherwise why we collided with you in the early New Year. People say that flowers are beautiful. If they bloom too early, they will wither too early and have no fruit. Therefore, you only left me a beautiful memory, the most beautiful existence in my memory, and the pride of that old time.
Without you, I have read love stories a thousand times. Later, I found that your tenderness and delicacy were still gone, so I wanted to forget it slowly and pretend I didn't remember it. But love is still like this. When it comes, it is like frost, and when it goes, it is like electricity, and it can't stop that youth. I want to write our story, but I can't. I feel that no matter how I write it, I can't engrave another you. What should I write once? No matter how you write it, it is wrong.
Do you remember the first love letter I wrote? Now that I think about it, maybe it was my most youthful emotion. Do you remember the first love poem I wrote to you? That's the purest call from my heart, an ignorant teenager. Perhaps, for you, those words have long been forgotten. But, I remember. I remember that there was once a teenager who was not far from you, but always guarded; I remember your bright smile is the warmth of the whole city in his heart;
I remember, he liked it best. Your gentle eyes are so beautiful and poetic. I remember, in his memory, you are a beautiful lilac, quietly blooming on the road of growth, without fading. He likes to see you in the corner of the stairs. Your clean and tender face is just skipped by the corner, but your heart is full of joy.
If you are not here, he will be anxious, worried, sad and anxious about where you are. Follow you on the way after school and have a look, although it's just the back.
He also likes to pretend to pass by your class after class, for your smiling face, bright and warm. All this, the memory of the teenager is still there.
You said, what a wonderful year, like a person, at the beginning. Youth, he slowly fell asleep in his dream. Maybe from the moment he met you, he fell in love with beauty, love songs and poetry.
Now whenever I recall the campus and the first six years of high school, that kind of warmth will overflow my heart, gush out my heart and moisten my eyes. I think, in the future, if I can recall how wonderful it was with you, think about our love together, miss you and my youth, and engrave our past bits and pieces in words, it would be great. I also feel that you and I have no chance after all. I can only write down this incomplete chapter of youth, write down my incomplete memories and give myself an account, so that the years of missing you and your past will not disappear. It's for you, more to make up for my lost youth.
Time is a Dojo, death and glory are reincarnation, waste is a gesture of commitment, and I only bow my head and raise my eyebrows with sincerity. I once flew over your world and finally left silently. Thank you for letting me know about love and poetry. Once love, only in my heart, missed a season, can not be perfect, withered like water. The sudden rain, through my eaves, cleaned up all the dust and smoothed away the restlessness and anxiety these days. I write a few lines of clean fine print according to this fresh vein, which makes my tired mood temporarily relieved, quiet and like it.
May life live up to expectations, what extravagant hopes and empty dreams. The world is a waste, and there is no hope for a long time. Sometimes we are happy, and sometimes we are lonely. When the window is clear, we can still tell Lacrimosa and tell future generations with a smile about our lost youth and the beauty of that year.
Some stories, once experienced, have no regrets. Some people, once loved, have no need to come again. There is no promise to leave a bill, but it is cashed in another way elsewhere. Where love tends to be eternal, it is eternal love. Ignorance is our first feeling. Time has passed, and the ending is only nostalgia, hiding beauty and tears. If life is only the first time, there won't be so many regrets and sighs. This long and distant world is not perfect, and I have only touched my own story, so there is no reason to continue reading. Say goodbye and never see you again.
Then, I tasted the floating world alone, a long stream of water.
This is my youth impression, which is related to love and the end of time.
Excellent love prose 2 love prose
Love essays 1
Another autumn wind turns the willows yellow in summer and stops the cicada singing in hot summer. The tree trembled slightly, shook off the yellow leaves and flew. ...
The four seasons in the north have changed so neatly and clearly that a rain has clearly separated summer and autumn, causing a burst of coolness.
The autumn wind blew the horn of winter, and its cold fingertips have touched my chest. But on that day, Jiangnan, far away from the highlands, was still nestled in the winding atmosphere of green mountains and green waters. She will never understand the cruelty and thoroughness of this winter in Mobei, and she can't afford the caress of this cold wind and blizzard. I look forward to the coming long and cold winter bravely. It grows as slowly as ginkgo, but it persists tenaciously in every minute.
Spring, summer, autumn and winter can never be the same. Because they are all serious and stubborn, in their own world, they devote their lives to youth, bloom a brief smile or pain, and then make way for the next season's life. Looking back at the fleeting time, they have achieved one spring flower after another and composed one life after another.
Occasionally in the afternoon: between seasons, I stop to stare and think, thinking about the fleeting time of smoke and dye. ...
A person sitting by the window, his face is no longer youthful and beautiful, his eyes are no longer shining, his thinking is no longer clear and agile, his consciousness can only be scattered with the autumn, his memory is dragged back to the old days, and his lips inadvertently burst into a shallow smile. That innocent and pure self, that young and frivolous self, that cynical' self'-has been too far away from me. ...
I don't know how long it took, maybe it was short between fingers, maybe it was long. Unconsciously, years have left vicissitudes on young faces, scars on beating hearts and calmness on passionate emotions. We no longer make up lies to catch fish and shrimp and skip class; We no longer leave our parents' stubborn back for our naughty; We no longer blush for a kind kiss; We don't fight for our buddies to lose their minds; We no longer do whatever it takes to achieve our goals; We no longer ignore the warmth of home for temporary emotions; We are no longer crazy about our success, and we are no longer passionate about the injustice of the world ... because we understand that the madness of youth is not an alternative, but an indulgence that does not understand the drift of the world. Even making mistakes is a necessary price for growth, just as the death of leaves and flowers is the price for occupying a season in autumn.
On the road of life, we are sensible on the left and sensible on the right. We were caught in the middle and went through one fleeting year after another. Reason and emotion, like two sweater needles, are quickly interwoven into the brocade of life by the manipulators of years, cut into colorful clothes of life, and experience the prosperity and decadent ashes of new life.
Memory is only a slave to the soul, not a faithful recorder. After years of screening, it only retains a little bit of fragmented pain and beauty, supports those lingering in our hearts and supporting our memories, so that we can feel some warmth and beauty from them and absorb some beautiful and painful experiences and lessons in the process of transformation.
Now, no matter who and what we meet, our indifferent eyes will not sweat easily, just because life has experienced too much. We have learned that when happiness is about to leave, people who want to keep it will also have pain. When pain comes, people who want to drive it away will experience greater pain. Just accept it! Just like now, when autumn will replace summer, winter will replace autumn, when fallen leaves will bid farewell to branches, moss will mottle walls, when wrinkles will outline faces, and snow will cover life ... You can't stop it except sighing silently. When the river of life is about to dry up, all you can do is accompany it until the last drop disappears and wait for rebirth, just like leaves leave scars to make way for new buds.
Under the vicissitudes and calmness of time, perhaps, in addition to beauty and pain, there are some stubborn things rooted in our hearts, wrapped in layers and deliberately remembered. Buried and sealed. As time goes by, everything changes, but it never moves here, stubbornly refusing to retreat into the repository of memory, just like pearls in clam shells, clinging to their glory under layers of packages. What's stuck here? Is it growth? Responsibility? Emotion? Or a dream?
Life has experienced Sanqiu, you know the four seasons. The dust of the years slowly accumulates and piles our hearts on the plateau, like a lake on the plateau, with no ripples and calm as a mirror. Even if there are no fish and shrimp floating in it, there are still those stubbornness that have been hidden in my heart all my life. They still stick to the bottom of the lake, do not precipitate or surface, maintain a calm, persistent and mature mentality, are still chasing his lifelong wishes, with some regrets, flickering on the dying road.
Love essay 2
Time slows down, and the sudden back is drifting away. As the dead leaves fell on the corner, the green color of scallion oil began to fade. Don't hesitate to sigh at sunset; Don't care about the damage of gains and losses, ignore the melancholy that pervades the night, and the bright moonlight sheds gentle ripples. I walked gently in time, afraid to wake you, and then slipped away from me, and the trace was hard to find.
Without you, this city is lonely, and the memories of those past stories have faded. I can't see the city clearly outside the window. Sitting on the high roof, my eyes are hazy. The flickering things keep repeating in my mind, torturing myself over and over again. Is it near or far?
It's windy on the street corner, who will stand in the wind and rain to protect you; When night falls, who will accompany you through the streets; The mountain is high and the water is long. Who will worry about you these years? ...
I hope that in Gao Yueming, you can not long for the date of return, even if the sky is high and the water is far away, thinking that you are all fine! Even if there is no shadow of you under the giant screen, my heart has never left.
In the days when the wind is light and the clouds are light, the smell of soil is very strong. On the roof wet by rain, insects will be heard at night. It's the mourning of time in life, the attachment of missing and caring in the heart, and the song of moonlight calling for lovers.
Jade leaves sobbed coily, and weak Liu Suifeng swayed. The lake began to ripple in circles, and the shadow that swept the lake disappeared into the maze. In an era without greed, the noisy city is full of lonely eyes. When I was still in nostalgia, the shadow under the moon had begun to disperse.