Sometimes I wonder what true love looks like. Later, when I looked at the love around me, I thought it was probably like this: when you walk through the bright lights, I will light the lights for you to light up your way home; When you come back from your trip, I will wash away your fatigue with gentle hands; When wrinkles climb on your forehead, I will hold your hand and grow old with you. In trivial days, I will interpret the eternity of holding your hand and growing old with your son. In spring, I want to hold your hand and walk on the path leading to the field. Under the blue sky, the breeze is blowing gently, behind which are rows of green bamboo leaves, and in the distance are snow-white green hills.