Fireworks

Presumably, I am still greedy for some leisure time, such as sitting quietly and drinking a cup of clear tea. When the time slowly slips away from my eyebrows and eyes, the temperature in my heart is still lingering in the days, it was just a moment when I lowered my eyebrows that I forgot the rush time and the time at my fingertips. Hearing the news coming, looking along the wind, there were clouds floating across the blue sky, touching each other kindly, which was a very beautiful moment. Most of the time, if my heart is quiet, the world will become beautiful, just like the years never allow me a period of Bodhi time, but I just look for a happy life in the silence of a city. Sometimes it’s just sad, just like a pair of eyes hanging with rich sadness all the time. When the setting sun in the West shines on the writing hand, how long has spring disappeared? I have never felt that life is so hard to endure, but I just accidentally encountered the wandering of time, which made me hesitate all over the floor. For a long time, I don’t think of the lonely scene when the flowers are defeated for a long time, the withered petals one by one, who ever remembered its beauty and fragrance, till the end, it is just a flower blooming in spring, even if it used to bloom so warmly? It can’t hide from the day when the beauty grows old in spring. Whose eyebrows are picturesque, who is in the pen. There is a clump of incense among flowers, a cup of warm tea, and a wisp of thin thoughts and deep melancholy at the bend of eyebrows blowing in the spring breeze for ten miles. Pick up the sentimental feelings in a wisp of time, make the years safe and sound, whose words under the tip of the pen dance in the time. When touching the breath of time, suddenly there is a clear sound coming into my ears, and the little crisp sound seems to be like the sound of time flowing through. At a moment, the radian of the fleeting time is drawn, gradually approaching the reincarnation of the next season. In May, time was not thin, and the story of words was still written on white paper. Some years later, maybe the time is thin, the memory is old, but the heart of the hand is still lingering with the fragrance of words, reading with low eyebrows, which is enough. Looking at May, Qingmo kissed his fingertips and left a hint of fragrant fragrance. When the swaying shadow of flowers covered the secret of his mind, there was warmth and reunion in his life with you living in his heart. In leisure time, writing is the most time, and some small emotions are exposed randomly on the tip of the pen. I want to say that there is a place belonging to a person’s city where people live leisurely and quiet, there is also the Echo left after the wind winds around my ears. When the dust settles down, I will always think of someone. It is also a happy thing to have someone to imagine. Today, the warm sun is a little lazy. The breeze blows slightly across the windowsill. The green leaves on the branches shake casually. There is a simple saying that the time is quiet, but there is also a yearning called stability in the world. Therefore, all the fireworks and dust are stranded, and the softest smile is made with you. Please stop your hurried rhyme in the distance and recall a leisurely feeling. The days are still flowing in the long river of time, and I can’t catch its shadow, but I just paint it on the paper in a hurry, watching it bloom and slowly turning yellow. If the years can really make a quiet better than me, can the dribs and drabs of time make flowers-like memories? If you can, cultivate a cloud-Water Zen heart, regardless of when spring comes, when autumn leaves fall frequently, and whose beauty will be decorated by winter snow, only the simplicity of any pure flow like water overflows under the pen and ink. At dusk, the warm sun began to slide down. The World passed by casually, never leaving too many memories, but we always learned to forget when we turned around. I can’t see clearly how to draw a perfect node in the fleeting time, and who on earth writes down an affectionate stroke on the paper of life, thus there will be reunion and encounter. When the bright color dyed through the layers of clouds in the West, farewell was the most beautiful and enchanting was the end when I was the most reluctant. Staring at me, I just chose another way to keep silent. There was dust falling outside the window. I stopped on the lattice gently and listened to the page turning. A page of plain paper showed countless elves, wandering back and forth between the lines, they smiled at me. Oh, what a quiet day, a pen slipped down the table, waking up the time. The wind blows, and the long hair blows, touching the gentleness under the eyelashes, blinking, whose Chinese year is reflected in the eyes. The most beautiful woman should have a heart of quietness and no struggle with the world. Pure time is woven on the plain brocade, and the colored glaze Cup with words like water flowing through the years. Many years later, I hope to see mountains or mountains, water or water. Time is still the same, time will not grow old, just let time kiss our hair white. Text: Silent praise without facial expression (prose editor: Ink drops into wounds) the snow disappears in spring

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