FreeDn

 What else can I say? I don't even know what kind of feeling is love. I'm changing the questions you raised. I'm carefully remembering what you said. Sometimes, I really don't know what to do . How can I ensure I don't miss out on love? I 'm stingy with my love. I'm afraid to give my love. This isn't because I'm heartless. On the contrary , it's because once I'm serious, once I'm in love, I lose the ability to protect myself. I don't like being sensitive , I don't like being weak , I don't like being sentimental, I don't like being pretentious. But once I start to love you seriously, all these flaws that I hate and avoid will follow me like a shadow. I don't like that version of myself. I'm even more afraid that you won't like that version of me. So, I don't think about anything, I don't give anything, I just greedily enjoy the love and tolerance you give me. Only then do I feel safe. Zero-degree water ...

 　　I met you when I was 　　seven. At seven, I was innocent and ignorant. 　　At seven, I resembled you. 　　At seven, I was quiet and reserved. 　　Year after year followed. 　　We spent three autumns together. 　　Twelve quarters, thirty-six months. 　　A total of 1095 days. 　　A change separated us for three years 　　. There was no lingering attachment at parting . 　　Three years later, we reunited. 　　I had changed, no longer innocent and ignorant. 　　You remained unchanged, still silent. 　　I don't know when, 　　I started to love seeing you smile. 　　Even just a slight upturn of your lips 　　can make me happy for half a day. 　　I once saw this passage: 　　A universe with nine planets. 　　Two hundred and four countries 　　. Eight hundred and sixty-six islands. 　　One hundred years is a century. 　　Three hundred and sixty-five days are a year. 　　Sixty seconds are a minute. 　　Meeting you was truly lucky 　　. Yes. 　　Meeting you. 　　It was so good.

 Olive Cooke, a renowned British philanthropist, committed suicide by jumping off a bridge at the age of 92. From the age of 16 until her death, she dedicated over 70 years to charitable work. For decades, she tirelessly sold plastic poppies to raise funds for the Royal British Legion, and donated to more than twenty charities, contributing her entire retirement savings. This compassionate woman should have peacefully passed away amidst blessings and remembrance, but no one expected her to leave this world in such a decisive way. Every month, Olive Cooke received over 200 emails and countless phone calls, not for gratitude, but for requests for donations. People emptied her savings, yet still complained that she hadn't given enough. The poor old woman was destitute, but she couldn't say "no" to those demanding her help. She once said, "I have given too much; I can't give any more." But the outside world wouldn't let her off the hook; her donations we...