Once upon a time, I lost my memory and chose to forget something and erase those unhappiness from the depths of my memory. Stop thinking as if they never happened. Just as flowers bloom and fall, spring has come to Qiu Lai. A person's life begins in spring, ends in winter, begins in the morning and ends in the night. Who knows, which season of life is this season? What year is my life? What day? A life of more than 30,000 days is neither long nor short. Remember today, what month, what day and when.
The sun went down yesterday, but today it climbed up.
Every day is a new beginning. Recall those yellow memories, vague and clear, soothing and messy.
When I was young, I didn't know that I was not ashamed of flowers, but still moving, because I had invincible youth.
When I am old, I don't know, my face becomes old, my face becomes vicissitudes, my memory becomes luxury, and my youth becomes dribs and drabs until there is no trace.
What I once expected is no longer expected. All unhappiness is beautiful. Never mind, who are these flowers for? Hate in spring or sorrow in autumn is nothing more than some spices, which adds a little tenderness to the coldness of the past, enriches the thin season and enriches life. After all, flowers still bloom in spring, summer, autumn and winter.
Standing among the flowers, I looked down and sniffed, and the faint fragrance of flowers made me smile. Once, you, me. Are one of them. However, at that time, we were all so careless. After the day, it is night. However, daytime never understands the darkness of night. Never smell it carefully, never appreciate it carefully, never know how sweet it is. How charming is this color? Where did these petals come from? Countless, the reason is still chaotic. These clusters are shallow and deep, only for a long life, but they bloom and fall into the red mud, nourishing more unknown flowers.
The sun has set today, and it will climb again tomorrow.
Red and green are intertwined and life is tenacious. Wildfire can't burn it out, but the spring breeze can revive it. Branches and leaves are graceful. Poetic years have passed. I'm afraid the lonely soul can be chased. Life is like a dream. When the beautiful moment passes away, the prosperity is written on my face. When I was young, I couldn't feel the feeling of getting old. I was addicted to high spirits, confused and bored, busy with my own busyness and running around. How bumpy the fate is, it can never be controlled. Who knows where the future will be and what it will be like?
How much confusion, spring has passed. In the bleak winter, the chill releases many worries. When did you say no, and did no, and lost your prosperity? When did you add sadness frequently? When did you learn to persist and learn to bear the burden of humiliation? When did you touch your loneliness over and over again in a sad dream? When did it start? When did it end? I don't know anything, I don't pursue anything.
Happy, unhappy, so what. Days flow away like water.
The past, the past, will always be the past.
Pain and happiness are short-lived entanglements. Now, pick it up again and take a picture in the mirror. It's more about emotions, but it's not as much pain as imagined, and it's not as little happiness as imagined. The days passed unconsciously, and I still enjoyed the strength brought by maturity in my heart, without confusion and impetuousness. Next, the rain ahead, bit by bit, penetrates the world.
Let bygones be bygones and ignore them.
The lilacs in the rain are empty and sad. Light sorrow, carefree sorrow, sorrow flowers are in bud until they wither. A lot of time for youth to squander, a lot of time for youth to ponder. Carefully, often take out the magnifying glass of youth to see what you are doing, which day and which time. Then, pick it up slowly and choose to start over.
Tomorrow, tomorrow and the future will always be tomorrow.
The sun went down yesterday, but today it climbed up.
The sun has set today, and it will climb again tomorrow.
Tomorrow, tomorrow, the sun will rise in the east.