I wonder what time it is. In the primitive world, thousands of dinosaurs roamed the empty Yuan Ye, looking around for prey. Archaeopteryx sang in the sky and showed off its throat. Apes eat fruit on bare trees and wag their tails to watch the sunrise. Mammoths are old and young, strolling in the rainforest ... it is the flow of time that makes them disappear and evolve one civilization after another.
What time is it? It is bronze corroded in the ground, bearing in mind the ancient customs. This is a mysterious cave with unburned fire inside. This is a battlefield with swords and shadows, a battle that covers the sun, a roar and the sound of hooves. This is a solemn palace with a supreme emperor, a group of flattering officials and a generation of beautiful concubines. Time is the loss of Dunhuang's flow, the thought in poems and songs, the objects excavated in ancient tombs, and the ever-changing territory of China. This is a mystery made up of lost years.
What time is it? It was a rainbow full of water droplets, turning back and forth in the pupil, but killing it in the sky of Wan Li after the rain. It dotted the night sky, like pearls embedded in a black cloak, but was erased by the sun. It is a beautiful flower, but it can't resist dying. Time is a fickle sky, a face of joys and sorrows. The time is sunrise in the morning and sunset at night. Time is the exultation of new life and the cry of death. Time is a few years of wandering and homesickness. Time is a shadow when standing, but not when lying down.
Time plays an immortal legend and understands the vicissitudes of the world. Time belongs to God, and everything is under her control. Time has speed, and it will take several years in the blink of an eye. Watching time slip away quietly in the corner of my eye, I am afraid, just like the sun indulges the dark clouds. It tried its best to condense, but it was torn to pieces after the rain and finally went up in smoke. I don't understand what time is. I want to race against time, not to run, but to be old. I just don't want my youth to float in the air. One day, I asked an old man what time was and he told me that time was nothing. We can't catch her, and there is no need to catch her, because fate depends on us, and time is just an audience.
I feel really strange this winter. My left hand is cold and my right hand is hot!
I don't want to hide in a remote alley and watch catkins. I don't want to hum a song in my dream, red cliff reminisces about the past and waves wash sand. Sing a song, answer it straight, and a hundred flowers will break. Time passed, and I heard the boy's past, holding a secret oath. Looking at the passage of time and writing down his idleness, he is always inexplicably sad. Now that he has grown up, when I can interpret the definition of time, I think that the teenager who was squatting under the buttonwood tree in the past now knows that he will not waste time again.