Read Whose Youth Is Not Confused and Feeling Essay 1000 Words.

Youth is an endless run in fate, but I am lost again and again on the road of running, and I ......fall down again and again

Perhaps, someone will hate us because of our shortcomings, but they will also like us because of who we are. We don't have to let those who don't like us like us, but insist that those who should like us find out as soon as possible.

I once heard such a passage: "I have heard others say that there is a bird in this world that has no legs, it can only fly and fly all the time, and when it is tired of flying, it sleeps in the wind, this kind of bird can only go down to the ground for a lifetime, and that time is when it dies." After listening to this passage, I was deeply touched, yes, struggle is life, and life is only forward.

In the past, we were young and frivolous, looking up to the sky and roaring;

In the past, we were high-spirited and scolded Fang Xuan;

In the past, we loved and hated clearly, laughed and scolded;

In the past, we felt helpless and screamed;

In the past, we were hesitant and silently wept;

Once was, forever forever, youth without regrets.

I once said that you feel lonely, and that's an opportunity for you to get to know yourself.

You think it's right to be dark, it's a chance to discover the light.

It's right that you feel helpless, so that you can know who your noble person is.

It's right if you think you're confused, whose youth isn't confused.

I'm used to seeing too many who are right and wrong, so I ignore them, just passers-by, and silently walk away.

I have encountered too many ups and downs, so I don't want to say it, learn to be patient, and not be helpless. I have encountered too much pain and suffering, so I have learned to be afraid, my body trembles, and I am not just waiting.

It turns out that the stop-and-go youth is just a drama, and everyone is planned, like puppets. It turns out that the flowers on the street will eventually wither, and the drama of youth is always performed unexpectedly.

I have taken on too much, and my heart is more tired than others. I know too much, and people's hearts are unpredictable.

Whose youth is not confused?

We are just our own passers-by, experiencing the exaggeration of our own lives.

The squeeze of time, the passing of that year in a hurry. The passing of the years, why bother with the sadness of that year.

The memory was a yellowed diary, with tears and only regret. The past is an indifferent longing, leaving a wound and tasting it yourself. The future is a dark confusion, afraid to go, afraid of coldness.

Whose youth is just sunshine and no sorrow?

The dimness is dead silence, killing time. Waiting is gone. Memories are memorable. The pain is destruction, and the heart is painful and desolate.

Nostalgia is a sin. But I can't help but linger on the past.

It's just nothing, so why be afraid. But lonely. It's helpless, how can it be heartbroken. But imagined.

In a lonely house, you can always release to the fullest. On the side of the street, I always can't help but watch. The moment the flowers bloom, they also carry the sadness of defeat.

How much wind and rain fell, I didn't bring an umbrella, and my clothes were wet. How many stopped and stopped, and there was loneliness all around, sacrificing the heart.

Everything is not everything, but I don't want to forget. Everything is broken, and the past is hidden. But I always want to look at it.

Whose youth is smooth sailing in the end, who can keep that shallow smile the same. Whose pimples hide how much heartache. What kind of past does anyone have under their young gray hair? Who's coquettish and arrogant also has some memories that he doesn't want to remember.

So camouflage, camouflaged strong. So go laugh, laugh insolently. So don't cry, the tears are given yesterday. So imagining, imagining yourself is too stupid. So don't complain, don't complain too much. So I want to forget, but I just bury the pain.

Youth, wanton squandering of time.

There is time that money can't buy. There is also the wound that time lingers.

Constant looking, helpless looking.

Who said that youth always counterattacks the light. Who said that youth is always happy and.

Who is willing to regard youth as suffering. Who wants to throw their youth aside.

Whose youth is not confused, I am also imagining, I have been happy and sad, but everything has become imagination.

Whose youth is not confused?