Life is not satisfactory, and I miss my previous poems.

Sit around and grieve for you and sigh for me, how long is life short for a hundred years!

Memories are beautiful, miss our past and cherish our present. Some people, not that we don't cherish, some things, not that we don't work hard, but that our hearts can't hold so much. Once, many possessions or losses were against our original intention. You know, life itself is imperfect.