Chinese New Year is like water, and the lost youth gradually fades away. Only some unforgettable points in memory form a sad line, and compose a melody in the change of seasons. It's beautiful, but it makes people cry. It's like drifting away from the world of mortals and fading away from acacia. From then on, I exiled myself to drift with the tide in the long river of years, and the weak pen seemed so pale and powerless.
The west wind pines and misses, rolls up the fallen leaves, and is helpless at will. Yellowing memories also drift with the wind, spreading a season of shallow sadness. Perhaps, after all, it is a mirage, and only one accidental passing by is doomed to be a past tense, that's all! what can I do? This is like a dream, which has always been a sorrow for the misty moon.
Now, after Qian Fan's death, the memory left by the years is still vivid, as if the morning bell awakened the dream last night, leaving only a few cold tears to soak my pillow and cool my heart. Years stranded in the past, leaving a person sad. I quietly counted the time in the dark, waiting for the next dawn.
In the early winter dusk, the setting sun reflects clouds and distant mountains, and occasionally a lonely goose flies by, which is particularly bleak. I can't help feeling the vicissitudes of the world. Perhaps, I'm tired of the world of mortals and have since converted to Deng Qing. I have nothing to ask for. It's just that the three thousand green hairs are still tied with feelings and sadness, and they are still in chaos!
The wind and rain roar on the stranger, and the sun and the moon are ten miles in the kettle. Unfortunately, the bright moon in the bright night sky obscured the stars outside the window for a long night. Before the case, it was lonely and oblique. The moment I lowered my eyebrows, it penetrated into a piece of acacia I wrote. I think it's the fault of the world, as beautiful as flowers and jade can't last, the autumn wind blows, and there are fireworks on earth.
How I wish I could see the clouds rolling in a pot and enjoy a cup of strong tea in the long stream in the long years, but the years are too far away for me to reach the other side of time. The persistence and affection in the drifting wind are still telling the four seasons that they will never leave and live and die with the years. Then, at any time, light will get old.
It turns out that those deep and shallow memories, those intermittent pictures, are just a glimpse of the sunset, a touch of sadness under the moon and spring flowers, so bleak and so painful. I stood at the window, under the bright moonlight, as if your beautiful face appeared again, smiling like a flower, and then dissipated with the wind.
Nowadays, there is nowhere to send tenderness, and it is like acacia soaking in the empty moon. Outside the window, the wind is still sunny and the willows are oblique. Perhaps, it's just a glimpse in the misty dream of the world of mortals, and I made a promise that I will never change in this life. I will see all the flying flowers and leaves in autumn and winter, causing countless sorrows and letting you drift away in my world sooner or later. Let's get together and say goodbye! I'm just a full moon in the southern sky, and I can't reach the dusk in the northern sky. Under the night, there are no longer once beautiful landscape paintings, leaving only the sadness of the wind passing through the willow tips and the lonely shadow looking at the horizon.
The faint night is dyed with acacia, and the cold wind blows leisurely. I don't have the elegant talent to write poems with pen and ink, and my boundless pen can't describe the grief and anger under the moon and all kinds of obsession in my heart, so I lean lazily against the window and let the cold wind caress my face and freeze my heart. If this is the case, thoughts will not invade the bones and sadness will not spread?
I came from a dream, if a dust lingers in the flowers and moons and floats beside the willow with the wind, just because I don't give up the glimpse you inadvertently left behind. I am drifting with the wind, wandering between flying flowers and fallen leaves, just to chase the helplessness when you leave. I know that you can only be a beautiful scenery in my life after all. Time flies and you are getting farther and farther away from me. In those years, it will always be the deep sea that I can't swim.
Under the dim light of night, sadness swells and the cool wind blows everywhere. Acacia, which was rolled up and described in the pen, filled the whole night, fluttering and lingering. It turns out that happiness is so short and missing is so long. The quiet moonlight is actually the injury you shed, gentle as water and full of holes. The flowing blood soaked the maple leaves all over the mountain and turned into bright red rain.
I often think of the choices you made when you left in that cold winter. If the autumn wind blows away and the curtain of winter opens, the only bright spot in my heart has already been washed away. I walked with years of injury, and gradually got away from the hustle and bustle of the world. But I never remember, when will you come back?
My world is gloomy and sad, just like a touch of setting sun in winter, heavy and desolate. With endless persistence, I wandered around the lake, accompanied the moon by the shadow, and let the cold wind blow away the pain in my heart again and again. From then on, I was intoxicated in the moonlight and buried my injury in my heart. Those past events have never been mentioned.
Your sky, bright and clear, is a mirage that I can't touch, empty and empty, and a shadow that I can't shake off. Now, I just want to see through the world of mortals in the years, and let flowers bloom and fall with a indifferent heart. From then on, I will walk in the rain and forget the past in the long years.
Memories that can't be washed away, like shadows that can't be thrown away under the moon, always come at night. I vaguely remember yesterday, when the stars were rare, the wind was clear and the willows were oblique, and I was holding hands with you to see the lake in a gloomy night. Now, the moonlight is still there, in front of the willow by the lake, who will watch the hand?
The sandy years are still swaying, and the past is floating in the world of mortals. Just like the splendor after the flowers bloom, but also like the silence after the noise. Therefore, I will use my life to dilute this feeling and use my life to baptize this scarred heart. And you, after all, can only be a passer-by in my life. I can't reach that warm moment in the drifting wind and your gentle smile of cutting cigarettes and willows.
I used to think that time would take everything away. Youth is gone, only fleeting events rise and fall between words in the gap between the four seasons. After a beautiful spring, a hot summer and a bleak autumn, now, let this cold winter solidify the graceful feelings that have drifted away from the world and deal with this earthly cool thin with a cold heart. From then on, I sighed in my heart and knew it.
The park loves the maple forest late, and the frost leaves are red in February. I like the fruitful autumn, and I prefer the mountains and rivers with all the forests dyed. Standing on the top of the mountain, I can see the clear sky and clear clouds in Wan Li. -inscription
In the autumn season, the golden osmanthus is fragrant, and I accompany my lover to climb the mountain on a cool autumn morning. You see, the maple leaves all over the mountain are waving to us, and the golden wild chrysanthemums are already smiling. At this time, bees are still busy collecting pollen, geese have not yet flown to the south, and butterflies are still dancing among the flowers. While the weather is not cold and the mountains are still thriving, we packed our simple bags and went camping in the nearby mountains.
Walking hand in hand on the rugged mountain path, whenever the path is steep and difficult to walk, you will hug me hard and keep saying to me, "Baby, slow down and be careful of the stones under your feet." I will answer you with a smile: "I broke it, so you have to go behind my back." Laughing and laughing all the way, laughing and cursing all the way, but holding hands never let go. I know that ten fingers are interlocking, conveying the warmth in my heart. Your tenderness penetrates my fingertips, through every nerve in my body, and slowly reaches my heart.
This feeling is so beautiful that you can deliberately not look at the road under your feet, and then deliberately fall down to see how nervous you are. Do you know that?/You know what? Do you know that?/You know what? When you are nervous, I am silly, my face is full of anxiety and panic, my mouth is clumsy, and it is usually lingering love words. Every time I'm nervous, it's "where did you fall?" Are you all right? " Concerned eyes are full of care and gentleness. I can't help laughing in my heart. Silly, fall, as for being so nervous? In fact, your silly appearance is warmer than the sunshine at the moment, which is my favorite taste.
Walking and watching, this forest is dyed with mountains and rivers. Although the autumn wind is bleak, it has a unique charm like fire. At this time, the maple leaf, like a burning flame, shines with dazzling light in the sun, dances in the autumn wind and thunders with joy, as if singing softly and whispering in the ear. Occasionally, a leaf falls with the wind, hovering in the air for a long time, dancing lightly like a beautiful girl, and like the arms of a reluctant tree, with a touch of beauty in nostalgia and a touch of elegance in reluctance. Autumn is full of eyes. Who says autumn has been sad and lonely since ancient times? I say autumn is better than spring. The flaming maple leaves are showing the greatness of life. After spring germination and summer storage, in this golden autumn, they exude strong passion, and pieces of fiery red leaves enthusiastically express the poems of life. Without the sadness of Changting night and the loneliness of two lines of slanting geese and blue sky, the sad scenery in late autumn is somewhat picturesque. Maple leaves reflect the clear sky, clouds are unintentional, and sleeves are full of poetry and painting.
Clusters of wild chrysanthemums on the mountain give off an attractive fragrance. I can't help bending down again and again, putting my face gently on the golden daisy, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. Daisies exude a faint fragrance, refreshing and refreshing. The smell is intoxicating. Intoxicated by this charming autumn color and intoxicating floral fragrance, I almost forgot the dusty past and those unpleasant trivialities in the world of mortals. This eyeful of maple and chrysanthemum has no smell of human fireworks. When the sun shines on the golden daisy, the chrysanthemum will bloom with a smiling face. When the breeze comes, chrysanthemums will sway with the wind and flowers will smile and sing in front of me.