Way

Vicissitudes meddle laugh fleeting, time tear drop, night broken bonds. Who is looking forward to the short life, looking forward to wasting time and pity. Sadness is like the case of blowing Jade yesterday, the desk is wasted, and there will be beauty in the dream. Inscription (because of the friends who miss the space, put down the work on the desk and walk into the space again, by the quietness of midnight. Talk about the more chaotic mood. I write in a muddle, you see in a muddle, life is hard to be muddled, it is boring to say it is broken.) Life is like Tide, ups and downs. In this unpredictable day, I walked through the last time of the year of the horse with a lonely mood. Fate comes and goes, dreams come and fall, facing the gentle night wind, cold moonlight, my heart gradually calmed down. Through the gentle moonlight and sentimental me, I always get used to taking up the pen in my hand to write the emotion of life, making my memory graffiti again with the adorable colors. Time is like water, always wandering silently in the sad and silent season, passing by shyly, giving me too many vicissitudes and helplessness in my thin twilight years. However, my ignorant feelings, under the gradually old appearance, unsealed the past whispers, turned into falling red and tossed into the soil, leaving only the fragrance as if it was the past. Looking back on the past, how many lofty ambitions of Ling Yun were covered by the dust all the way, and the wandering thoughts were hidden in the softest place in the bottom of my heart, which hurt the past. The sigh of parting goes through the corridor of memory, cuts through the fate of fingertips, buries a desolate place, and renders it as the most beautiful sunset glow in the sunset. In the past years, I invite a wisp of breeze into my heart, let the sad smile cry with the wind, and look back on the wasted life. Time is relentless, more than 60 years have passed away in such a hurry, not waiting for the old dream to wake up, but time does not leave any trace to move forward, only leaving regrets, shuttling through the space of time, to recall those past events like the wind. However, those stories that came out were wandering in the ruins outside the window, swaying the wind chimes sleeping in the dust, and chanting a song of separation alone. The melody was melodious, just like the continuous running water, circling around the old rings, only the lingering charm of sadness remains in my ears. Strolling along the road of life, how many fragrance, how many flowers are red, and the road when you come by the fence is as delicate and charming as flowers, which has influenced the brightness of a season. After a round trip, I fell into the depths of the world of mortals inadvertently. No matter how the faint dream wandered, I could not walk out of the narrow world and the mood of being empty for a long time, however, I could not see the end of the story, until I saw the end of the world, it was still ethereal, like a dream. The night is still so quiet, the moon is still like water, open a curtain of deep dreams sleeping under the moonlight, spread the picture scroll hidden by the flowing light in the wind, and write between the flowers, the inkstone is a piece of elegant ink, fill in half a volume of thin words. Through the window, it was lightly sprinkled on the paper, and the scene of noise was hidden in the end, but the past was clear in a paper of ink. Perhaps, the beautiful past can only sleep in the dream, then turn into a wisp of incense, permeating the whole season’s face, and then drift in the memory with the wind, leaving a vague appearance. Looking back and looking back, the journey I had traveled has already faded away from the old noise, and I can’t even see the pace when I came, the profusion of being exiled in the wilderness by time and space, and the looting of years, now there is only a farewell poem left, covering a period of commitment and a period of past. Perhaps, the initial waiting can only follow the unrelenting feelings, wandering in every corner of the world. Perhaps, the passing past has already been scattered with fragrance and buried in the long river of time. Why does the helpless sense of loss wake up in the midnight, fold the tears of memory into plain and elegant words, and pay tribute to those cardamom years that never come back? Have you ever met with tenderness, destined to turn into overnight sadness? Or are those future which are as thin as cicadas, can’t stand the flick of fate, and in the gradually old appearance, they are interpreted as the picture scroll of warmth, sighing the missing again in the lonely night? Looking at the half-hidden and half-bright midnight lights in this city, listening to the streets passing by by the breeze, leaving only a slight sadness. Endless melancholy has been breeding and multiplying since then, counting everything in the past, they all bloom in the lonely night sky like blue and white flowers, dancing alone in the wind and dust is hard to find, and finally cooling in the lonely moment, which makes the blue silk white and desolate fleeting time. I was so sad that I frowned when I murmured. The past is euphemistic in my memory, and I can only live in the cold night by myself. With that green lamp, it collapsed in a moment, but burned out the elegant charm of devout and foolish worship, write a song of separation, whining on the string. Drink those crazy complaints in the world of mortals. Yesterday reappeared. The past was floating and heavy. All the way, the scenery and the song of departure faded away from the noise of the past, leaving only blurred dreams. There was no loop in the real yesterday! Like (prose editor: drops of ink become wounds) the snow in spring Spring elimination snow, multi-the yao nian, unspoken. Reading from afar, it is just above that snowfield. The snow is really beautiful, after all it is spring… Waiting Waiting is a kind of persistence, sticking to a certain belief and never giving up. Maybe because of a certain commitment, or because of a certain… Be good at listening to different voices and opinions On October 6th, I published a travel essay: “beautiful autumn scenery”, which was obtained by many literary websites… Read The Bridges of Madison County “When the white moth spreads its wings, you can come to me at any time”. I think, if I am a man, be accepted… From today on, I want to be happy I read “the biography of Hulan River” long time ago, and I remember that I was really in a heavy mood for a long time. Which characters caused me… Sick time I sneezed one after another these days. I said someone was reading me and others said I was sick. Finally, the doctor also said I was…