Chapter 2 preface

I already wrote an article and tore it up. Thinking about it again, I couldn't speak, only ended up in a thousand melancholy. The love between fifteen and twenty is colorful. There is an infatuation that cannot be returned, There is a faint heart-to-heart connection but no way to get close, There is pure and beautiful love, Willful lingering, There are disappointments and feelings of helplessness. A girl full of tenderness, with a heart full of conflicts, she will not know what is right or wrong, but she is true. There are a large group of admirers around her, and she may have different shades of affection for each of them, but she can only catch one ball after she throws it.

I don't know whether she is right or wrong. I only wrote the first six chapters from when she was sixteen to eighteen. When throwing the pen, there are still many unfinished words. Her youth was buried too early, but I think she has no regrets. A burial of youth affected her life, and her story is not over yet. The next eight chapters are the story of the heroine at the age of twenty-eight.When I was writing the last chapter and the manuscript paper was on the ninth page, I received a phone call that made my emotions fluctuate. My friend passed away, but I could only continue writing. Life is inevitably full of regrets.

To fly across the vast ocean of life, you need a pair of strong wings. The sea of ​​clouds is misty. Sometimes, after flying in the wind and rain for a long time, you can’t find a small island where you can rest. My friend said: "Why are there so few bad guys in your novels?" Maybe it's because I don't like bad guys, so I don't want to give them important roles in the book. However, even if there are no bad guys, many embarrassing things have happened between the choices.It turns out that the river has no water, and the waves are just misty smoke. When everything returns to nothingness, we will regret why we didn't grasp the moment, love when we want, hate when we want.

Love is not merciful, the lethality of love is sometimes greater than hatred, and it hurts more people. The first six chapters are stories that took place between the ages of sixteen and eighteen. Her youth was buried at eighteen. Sheng Shihua in the last eight chapters is already a mature flower, and I hope to give her a little happiness. Although this bit of happiness, it also constitutes a regretful life. After all, I was writing a novel, not a fairy tale.