The dream

Time is engraved on the past, and whether the persistent dream ripples due to the quivering between dribs and drabs. The passing time, the passing warmth, the cyan sky, the clouds and haze have already disappeared, a dream of wind, flowers, snow and moon. Whether you are overlooking the distance now with your sad eyes. Whether the imaginary wings are still soaring persistently in the wind. Whether the trace of love has already changed its appearance. Tears in eyes, people in missing, thousands of promises, whether they have fallen flowers and become flowing water, the heavy footsteps have been held for thousands of years due to a beautiful dream. The fireworks across the bank were flourishing like the golden years; The sunshine after the rain and the gathering and scattering Dykes unconsciously made ripples of dreams. In the reincarnation of deep and shallow fate, the love thought held up by both hands, let the lead shine, without any regret. In that colorless night, the wind quietly knocked at the window lattice. I couldn’t be calm in my heart in the dreamy obsession, maybe it was just a grain of sand and a wave in the sea. The rivers and lakes of wind, flowers, snow and Moon have hesitated, expected, gained and lost. A period of past, a shallow emotion, but unfortunately cooled down to the end can only be interpreted with a once, with a calm to cover. What can the short ripples of dream be counted? The Long Song laughs at the sky, seeing the light of tears, the sadness in the bottom of my heart, the ripples of dreams, but only the innocent eyes are hanging on my face. When life responsibility becomes the leading role, where can the dissolute soul truly find the placement of soul? Where will the ripples of dreams get temporary peace? I couldn’t help asking lightly, why did the original heart that was once hot become so slim now? Is it because the hair has never been white, the beauty has never been old, or because of the agreement that can never be realized, let oneself trudge and wander alone in the misty and rainy south of the Yangtze River, does it seem to be at a loss? The persistent dream stepped on the unpredictable lines in the fate. Even if the journey fell many times, it would not be annoying that he walked out of the immature past, what can the short ripples really be? When all the memories are deeply locked by the misty rain, which can’t be worn through and can’t walk out, I want to borrow a few wisps of misty rain to hide myself deeply in this mysterious country of poetry garden, but faith involuntarily made me try hard not to forget the dream. The soul is on the shore, the soul is stranded, and those little regrets and feelings in the heart will be like the lotus on the soul. Every night, it will always be occupied by some wet feeling and light up the ripples. In the silent season, though Misty and rainy, the world of mortals has fallen, hiding in the cool breeze. Those poetic, pictorial and true words, somehow, are totally different from what I thought and what I saw. Just like this fairy tale that can’t stand the test of time, it is getting farther and farther, getting weaker and weaker. No longer sentimentally attached to the road that came, all the sentimental past, persistent dreams, casual chatter and lost tenderness. Then whether it is just because of existence, but because of concern. Whether it is only because of persistence that it ripples. Whether the passing years will one day never find the traces of the past and the traces of the past. Hey, what can the short ripples of dream really count? A few photos of childhood, the time painted with bright ink, the past and drizzle were finally just a disrepair Chen Huang paper painting, which was scattered in the wind with a slight touch. Just like the ending without a beginning, who still remembers who is the past and who is the paradise of his life. After going through the ups and downs, when desperate to retain, the so-called Freedom, the so-called good life, wake up now, is it really the Concord dream? How can those persistent dreams and short ripples easily smooth the rough times and the yearning for a better life. On a windy night, the corners of my eyes were a little wet. I can’t bear to see that piece of dead leaves rushing to fate without any purpose. What about the short ripples of holding dreams? Whether it was just a short time to stand on the shore of life, when watching the scenery on the other shore, it was just like those flowers, which opened and thanked, and those lights turned on and off. Reaching out and touching the fragile years, the deeper the memory is, the heavier the injury is. However, those memories stranded by time can only be wasted endlessly and disappeared endlessly. It’s OK in the depth of the season, I’m intoxicated with the fragrance of flowers, I’m sitting in the warmth of life with a handful of sunshine, let the ripples of dreams flow under the tip of the pen without hesitation. Sitting at the stern of youth, looking back at the scenery of the bow, the trees on the shore and the people on the shore will all sail far away one by one. Perhaps the only thing that has not changed is the direction of life, that brave and persistent heart. No longer obsessed with the scenery of the past, no longer obsessed with the impossible dreams of childhood, lost things, maybe you should give up, pick it up, in fact, has changed the taste, changed the mood. Don’t laugh, don’t make trouble, there is a faint fragrance of flowers in the memory, butterflies dancing, and the crisp and pleasant voice of the bird, but at this time, you are invited to enjoy this happy time involuntarily and secretly. The ripples between dreams can only stay in the heart pond calmly. Then gently wave goodbye to the moon full of febrile diseases and quietly hold hands to bid farewell to that vague nightmare. Maybe I just thought for a while, disturbing the past, the vanished past. Hiding in the depth of time, I walked into the same country and the same heaven again after a short ripple of dream? Even though the thorns in the front are full of roads, they will hurt their own loose bodies, the red covered by buried flowers and the sadness held by the moon are just passing away with the wind, how can they easily stop them? The ripples of the dream, the short confusion, the distant distance, but at this time, I am no longer confused because of the persistent yearning. Like (prose editor: Jiangnan wind) the snow in spring

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