stories when I was little

I think love is a sweet ending story, where the two men are docked beautifully at the household dock.
Love comes as they unite and decide to take a new life together.

Love is a blessing of happiness that comes with the laughter and the gentle hand of a special person.
Love is also my father's gaze to Mother as she stroked the back of her hand gently on the dining table.

But I was wrong.

Love is not just a sweet soy sauce in the heart room.

Because true, love is bitter.

Love is when Dad drudges all the time to give the best to his son.

Love is when Mother hunger so that her child can eat and get enough nutrition.

Love is to sincerely cancel out sightseeing with your friends, and give up your precious vacation to care for someone who is sick.

Love is struggling to wake up early and sleep more late, just to be together a little longer.

Love is telling the truth and responsible, even if it is self-defeating.

Love is forgiving despite being wounded and slumped, without cursing and cursing.

Love is giving without ever asking, and treating it as best as it can.

Love is to appreciate every effort to make us happy, and invite him to rise again when he falls and sinks.

Love is tolerating its bad habits, and slowly improves itself as it goes

In fact, love is not just about making love. Love is about sincere bitterness.

The unspoken sacrificial story of a loving heart.