The poet in real life is lonely, and he longs for the same love as the poet in the text.
There was a woman who fell in love with the poet somehow, and she was very enthusiastic and enthusiastic.
The poet asked the woman: Do you love poetry or love me? The woman replied: I don't know poetry, and I don't love poetry. I only love you. The poet said: Poetry and I are one and inseparable. How can you understand me if you don't know poetry? How can you love me if you don't love poetry? So he turned that woman down. The woman cried for a long time in front of the poet. Her tears wet the poet's heart, but she couldn't shake the poet's will.
After countless efforts and hardships, the poet finally ushered in a glorious period of his poetry creation career. For a time, all kinds of newspapers, magazines and news broadcasts were talking about the poet and his poems. Many, many women are writing letters to poets, and one of them wrote: I fell in love with you because I love poetry; Because I love you, I will love poetry more. The poet was very moved and thought that this woman was his dream confidant. Before long, the poet married this woman.
A few years later, many, many other things occupied people's lives. Few people appreciate or talk about poetry. People seem to forget that there is such a thing as poetry in life, and also seem to forget the existence of poets. Many of the poet's colleagues were forced to change careers.
The poet was heartbroken when he saw the decline of poetic style. He doesn't want to walk with the world, and he has no power to return to heaven. Helpless, the poet decided to seal the pen and never wrote poetry again.
The poet's wife filed for divorce. She said: I fell in love with you because of your poems. If you don't write poetry now, my love for you will be over.
After experiencing the ups and downs of career and love, the poet finally realized that he and poetry could never become one. Poetry is just a form of his spiritual life. In this world, being loved as an individual is far more real and lasting than being loved as a poet. This is his real personal value. The poet then remembered the woman who only loved him and didn't love poetry long ago. Two lines of clear tears rolled down and wet the manuscript paper in front of him.