Essay on Writing the True Love of the World Word Count: 600 Urgent!! 15

There is true love everywhere in the world - nostalgia is still there.

In the midst of busyness and useless sighs, the days gently slipped through the sleeves of the ears and sideburns. Walking through the streets and alleys of the city, high-rise buildings, flashing lights, shop windows refurbished with seasonal fashions, crowds like ants, passing by unfamiliar faces. The city marches in the hustle and bustle every day, continuing civilization and culture, while the affinity and trust of life, the contamination and integration of nature, are gradually drifting away.

Living in green crops and red brick houses, I used to think that this was my world, my paradise. Carefree, happily growing up under this rainless sky. The flower season was sent away, the rainy season was ushered in, and I also embarked on the journey of studying in a different place.

Standing in a corner of the city, looking at the bustling crowd and the endless stream of vehicles, I feel very small and insignificant. Sometimes, the storm of the day rests, and the heavy night slowly gathers around me, and my loneliness is like the night slowly falling outside the window, getting thicker and thicker. I didn't want to turn on the lights, just sat quietly in loneliness, and longed for the barking of dogs in the distant village, the croaking of frogs, and the crowing of crickets, swinging from the sky, faintly stirring up the thoughts in my heart, and the hometown that I thought about day and night gradually approached, becoming more and more abundant and clear.

The village is not big, but because there is water and grass, houses and cooking smoke, old people who can tell stories, honest and hearty villagers, and children who can tie bird cages and catch grasshoppers, it is so vivid and interesting. That's why it's a memory that I'll never forget. Run around the high and low villages without knocking on the wrong door.

Although each house is similar, it is also clearly distinguished by some differences. This family's morning glory is crawling all over the wooden cane, and the red pepper of that house hangs from the eaves. Each family's small garden is well organized, and all kinds of vegetables are cultivated in ridges, and the vines rise and bloom into a small flower.

The small garden is covered with green, and what overflows is the true taste and hope of life.

The small village is moistened by the mountains and rivers, and the air is filled with the fragrance of green trees and firewood. And the simplicity and kindness of the folks here make the creatures of the earth willing to live with them. Every year in the warm spring, the swallows fly in and build a nest in the mud under the eaves of the farmhouse, and the picture is harmonious and moving:

The family sat together at the usual dinner, while the swallows murmured overhead, and sometimes flew diagonally past the people, leaving a beautiful silhouette. A calm and tranquil life makes the texture of life more pure and transparent.

Nowadays, in the face of this huge city and the hustle and bustle of the crowd, I miss my hometown more and more. I miss the tranquility and simplicity there, and I miss the freshness and cleanliness there. So, faintly with a trace of regret, why the treasured everything, when the straight road was ordinary, suddenly looking back, tears filled the eyes?

I'm dizzy. I'm going to learn 150 words too. There is true love in the world.