A fleeting short singing.
Some people say that memory is shallow and ends in fleeting time. Time flies or distance, how can I miss you? You are the most beautiful in my heart.
Miss, only one word, but so lingering; Reading, only one word, is so fascinating.
It's been a year since I ended my story with you, but it's not so easy to forget someone. After all, it is you, not me.
The small downstairs in front of the house, a year of wind and rain, faded the once bright scarlet railing, just like those pictures we once remembered, no longer bright. The breeze brushed my cheek, as if the years were sighing for us. The sudden hot weather is like the college entrance examination in June. I walked along the vague memory site, as if I had returned to that mature season.
June in southern China is the season of biting rain. Continuous rain lingers in the world, unwilling to leave, but the heat quickly dispels the rain, which comes and goes in a hurry without a trace. The three-year scene actually focused on this small physical phenomenon. In the last class, the students were already very excited, but they still had to part. When class was over, I came to see you specially and said "Come on" very seriously. Because I know it will be difficult to meet again this time. In short, you must be very happy to hear my blessing. Sure enough, I remember that after you heard this short sentence, you immediately showed a smile that I was no longer familiar with:
Two deep and shallow arcs swept across the cheeks, swinging canoes, and watery eyes circled and rippled, but two dimples floated on the small cheeks, and the ups and downs on the face prevented the spread of the river, and finally a charming landscape painting emerged. I especially love watching you smile, which gives people a feeling of spring breeze and makes your beautiful smile bloom in my heart.
Young and shallow, lonely and barren years; The silhouette of time reflects the fragments of the past, and the memory infinitely restores those stories of you and me.
You are a very good girl, which is my constant evaluation of you.
You are a simple girl. The day after your birthday, you asked me to make it up for you. Happy birthday. I didn't expect this to make you very happy. I laughed and said that you are a silly girl. At that moment, I was unprepared, and you inadvertently occupied all of me.
You, smiling like a flower, are a figure lurking in your mind, laughing so much. Every time in the moonlight, your figure is always condensed by the bright moonlight. Full moon, quiet night and charming moonlight often make me miss you. After all, the moon is no more beautiful than one thousandth of yours. You are the most beautiful in my heart.
You especially like cleanliness and neatness. The books on the desk are always in order. By contrast, I was careless. You often laugh at me with this, but now these most common bits and pieces, savoring carefully, are the sweetest fragments of you and me.
The ancients once said: "The mountains have no edges, the rivers are inexhaustible, there is Lei Zhen in winter, and there is rain and snow in summer. Heaven and earth are one, but they dare to break away from you." This ideal oath is so ridiculous, so far away, you and I may not last forever at all, but we have always been happy for each other.
You know, I'm still waiting for your smile in a foreign land.
Do you know that I still care about your smile silently in a foreign land?
Do you know that in a foreign land, I still want to write the unfinished story of you and me in words as always?
Sure enough, I haven't seen you since the college entrance examination. You are still in the late rain of Li Shangyin, continuing to write your story, leaving the autumn pool full of melancholy; And I not only moved to Jiangnan water town, but also went to another far away place to study. It turned out to be such a joke. I sighed and remembered the legend of Sanshengshi: they said that the oath is unchanged and the eternal is Sansheng; And those who made promises at the beginning have already turned to dust. And we can't wait, can't wait for the urging of the years, can't wait for you, me and him, and can't wait for the long arc of the sea and sky.
The past can't be traced, and we can't recover it in the face of each other who have already drifted away. I remember reading a very touching sentence in Lonely Pig:
The lost time reflects the fragments of the past, and looking at the inspiration from the horizon, a new day will come again. Broken dreams have paled my mature face, listening to yesterday's departure, but welcoming tomorrow's sigh.
Perhaps a period of decadence gave me a very strong * * * sound; Or maybe regret has given me infinite loneliness. Will you be moved like me when you see this passage? In fact, you and I both know that it doesn't matter. Our past can be turned into smoke and dissipated in the world so quickly. It is better to say happily that we are moved but not moved:
If you are well, it will be sunny.
Shallow Singing Time II
Tired of leaning on the windowsill, watching the night wander and change, time is charming and blurs too many ghosts.
Time cuts the memory into pieces, stinging my heart bit by bit. The bustling street lamps are silent in the noisy downtown, and the night devours all of me. I crouched in the dark, and now I realize that only myself is abandoned by the whole world.
In fact, I really care, but I missed it and changed the ending.
You know it will hurt, but you still have to keep going until you lose it, and you will understand that if you lose it, you will never come back, and if you miss it, you will never come back.
Many times, I will hide in a corner alone, looking at the sunshine in front of me, but passing by, I will reach out and grab it, only to find that the sunshine really doesn't belong to me.
In the vast sea of people, you will experience many people and many things. Some people will leave some traces in your past, but when you turn around inadvertently, you will go back to the original place to find yourself who didn't belong to you.
See some people drifting away, unfamiliar, familiar, owned, missed, lost, forgotten …
The ferris wheel is still turning. Don't you forget that the original plot was just beautiful, but it was a play after all. He didn't escape the trick of fate and fell down in pain. Maybe he forgot. Otherwise, how could he show such happiness?
Fireworks fall, three thousand happiness.
The night is like a huge whirlpool. I was wrapped in it and kept turning. Broken memories suddenly appeared in front of me, and my head burst like a balloon. However, I finally got over it, although I always understood that "not every sorry sentence can get an irrelevant sentence".
I have woven the years into a lie, but I can only deceive myself.
The sky turned white and I couldn't stop sobbing softly. The street lamp outside the window is still on, stretching one pale shadow after another.
The falling rain wet some withered petals, and white butterflies fell from the sky, flying and spinning, but finally fell into dust.
In fact, it is not that the world has changed, but that we have changed and the world has changed.
Listening to music is a little lost, and suddenly I feel a little strange, to everyone and to myself.
No one can predict the ending, just like I don't know who I will meet and what kind of story will happen. There are countless people around me, and I am the only one standing in the same place, retreating bit by bit, and the people around me gradually blur into a shadow and finally disappear. It really doesn't matter. Even if the whole world abandons me, I still have me and myself
Walking into the story and watching the people in the story explain the indifference of the world, I smiled. Yes, I will laugh again. It was a heartbreaking smile, but it also fooled everyone's eyes.
The sun was scattered in front of the window, and mottled shadows were scattered all over the floor. How I wish someone would call me gently, walk into my world and listen to me tell some people and things, but no, I am still alone, wandering around the street corner, infected with fleeting time, and learned to be lonely.
Shallow singing, my sadness …
Shallow Singing Time III
Prosperity is gone, and the silent night sky reflects your moving face, gentle and quiet. On this quiet night, with a moon-like heart, I have a wisp of acacia, although there are some faint sadness. ...
Sleeping, in a dreamy paradise. Giggling again and again, with a little sadness, staring at the scenery-the scene is far, far, far away.
Once upon a time, many landscapes were shrouded in smog, drowning lines of deep or shallow footprints, and memories burned like bonfires, raising smoke all over the sky. Struggling in the battlefield of memory seems futile, but it is more like remembering the different fireworks and unwilling to leave. Lying on the land filled with smoke and still feeling cold, is this a defeat? Won? Still tired?
Dark sky, cold rain, dust washing away the soul, a fragile voice is shouting, calling for wandering souls again and again. Open your blurred eyes, let the rain overflow your eyes and roll freely, hold them tightly with trembling arms, want to kiss the tenderness in your arms, and want to whisper the moonlit night on the other side of the city in your ear; I want to ask Meteor if she brought you my old greetings. But only the night wind passed through my arms and cooled the warm rain.
When the dust settles, I turn around with my memory in my hand. The face as strong as a bud and as warm as fine water has gradually dissipated, filled the sky with the dust of the past and hazy the new moon.
The fleeting time like quicksand and spring water slipped from the fingertips.
Shallow Singing Time IV
Silently, singing softly in the fleeting years, a person tells the ups and downs of the world, knocks on his heart, opens the lock for a hundred years, and watches the simple past flow. At this time.
I am wearing a gorgeous robe, my hair is gently tied into a bun, and my hairpin is inserted obliquely from one side, which evokes a touch of charm. My hands are like bamboo shoots, and my breath is like blue. The woman in my dream came to me leisurely, which once blurred my full desire and tenderness.
Once upon a time, I wanted to be such a pure and beautiful woman, chanting the flowing past in the misty rain, singing and dancing lightly in the fleeting time, holding my lover in my dream, living and dancing together, walking on the edge of the past, getting wet by embroidery and blurring my eyes.
I am walking alone in the world with a smile. I don't want to see all the prosperity and vicissitudes of the world. I just want to cook wine with your childhood, play a song with you and sing a flowing song in the most beautiful years. However, in my dream, where are you looking for my eyes? How did I secretly spread flowers when a person was singing and complaining, making my life shallow and shallow?
Walking in the depths of prosperity, I am used to seeing how the wind blowing gently outside the window lattice quietly blows up the roll of Sauvignon Blanc on the ancient stage; See how flowers are broken and lost under the nostalgia of delicate hands; Look at the path of the bridge, how the moss overflows the dense undercurrent and grows gloomily; See how Leng Yue tries to show a faint light in the haze. ...
All this has formed a wandering soul in the fleeting time. When the candle is weak, it falls down carefully, dyeing life-long confusion and emotional sadness. In a misty corner, it secretly moldy and realized the pallor of the passing years.
I have been waiting in this world for a long time, even longer than before, just to find the person who sings and hums in the depths of my soul. For this moment, the geese I waited for returned to the north year after year, and while I was waiting for the return of the northern bird, I became a sad woman, with a faint sadness and loneliness in my brow.
For many years, I have been holding hands, singing alone on the pollen road, singing all the confusing love in the world, singing all the silence in my heart, singing all the prosperity and vicissitudes of my life, flying my magnificent dream in the sky of Wan Li, in the misty rain, * * * and a curtain are hazy, revealing a faint light. This is also the hand of time, stroking my once lonely heart.
Spring has come and gone, and in the thick green, the charm of spring flowers has finally faded. Who is it, in this slightly melancholy day, let me have a half-city sandstorm and a west wind; who is it? In this confused day, I was allowed to spend it alone. No one can understand the flower language, who is lingering with the flower, who can understand my heart, open the door for me, and allow me to dance heartily in the distance of time, dancing and falling, laughing into the wind?
I sing softly in the fleeting time, and I sing solo on earth. Let me talk about my half-life marriage. This book is meaningful and quiet at night. I am holding a roll of yellowed poems with antique ink, and the fragrance contains a touch of bitterness. I stared at the cold wind and rain, singing the wind and frost of the world alone, expressing the ancient times and being calm with * * * ...
Shallow Singing Time V
Time flies, memories, how much helplessness, how many vicissitudes; Years, long, how much expectation, how much heartache. Stop and go, scenery all the way, scenery all the way. How many stories are full of flowers blooming and falling; How many vows, submerged in spring to spring; How many songs are lost in memory. Time flies, for whom do you sing softly and for whom do you dream? In memory, can the fresh and light green of that season awaken the eyes of expectation; Can the warm fragrance of that season stop the tears of vicissitudes? When you are silent, who let you die alone?
In the depths of time, there is always a song that will be unforgettable for a long time. I remember it, Rourou Xin, and my feelings are rippling; In the fleeting time, there is always a memory. Looking back, my heart is surging and my feelings are warm. In the fleeting time, there are always some stories, which are decorated into poetic scenery by us in the years of drifting away. Time flies, for whom I sing softly, for whom I dream, and for whom I cry. Time dancing, that touch of tenderness, once danced at the fingertips, once sang and sang. When I turned around, it was a stranger's vision. Once you sang softly, sang softly, and once you dreamed of curtains, they were all collected in the depths of memory. When you remember it, it is soft and warm.
If the flowing years, such as poetic years, a person's day, with a withered brush, depict the eternity of an ignorant dream, can a beautiful cheongsam made of words be put on for him in the distance? Dancing in that dream is still playing the legend of the end of time? Looking back at that tenderness, I tied my hair for three years and gently touched the warmth in my heart. Those vows, "You are running water, I am a fallen flower, never leave", still linger in my ears. Who awakened the beautiful dream, who let the beautiful vows fall with the wind? Time flies, I dedicated my life to tenderness and poetry, dedicated my life's dance to lingering and tenderness, and sang my life's story softly, but it was a moon in the water, a flower in the mirror, and a dream!
Time flies like water, hiding behind the dream, silently listening to the sound of those flowers falling. Those whispering songs, those curtain dreams, in the dull days, have become faint memories, a cup of the past, enchanting every night and morning. Miss the precipitation in the dull days, watching the faded color in the dream. Shallow time is no longer lamenting the coldness of the world, nor is it recalling the loneliness after turning around. I only want to pick up a piece of leisure and find a quiet place in the troubled world, so that the tenderness and memories can be portrayed as a poetic landscape in the time of drifting away, becoming a wandering sea in my heart and warming a person's day!
Time flies, let the breeze quietly pass through the hair, let it wander in the corner of infatuation; Let the silhouette gently cross time and space and fold in the depths of the soul. At least, those soft songs, soft songs and dreams behind the curtain once spread gently in the heart of the sea and stayed in the fragrant years. A river is full of spring water, a tree is full of flowers, and there are many feelings and scenery. I would like to embroider my dream into the map of love in the bright sunshine, let it touch my concern, bloom beautiful flowers in the depths of time, and warm those days without romantic affairs. Time is quiet, as long as he is there and the years are there, it is spring!
Shallow songs in late summer (6)
Don't think about anything, listen quietly, and the injury in summer is blown away by the autumn wind.
I didn't mean to sleep. On a refreshing night compared with the whole summer, I leaned against the French window, lazily looked up at the stars, waited for the breeze to blow, and listened quietly. Those past drifting with the wind will not be sad for its sadness, so I will not delete it, abandon it and be happy for it. I just want to listen quietly and slowly recall the lost years. When the music is over, don't take away a cloud and leave a footprint.
I used to write too many articles for rhetoric and beauty. Although this form of expression can highlight the extraordinary style of writing, it feels a bit divorced from reality after a long time. Now look back at the articles written before. Most of them are lyrical, lacking a lot of life colors, and many people have given me opinions. So I write this article today, and then I will accumulate my worries.
About myself, about my feelings, my life, what I see and think, and some exclusive memories that I have never said, my thoughts are chaotic, not that I don't want to say it, but I really don't know where to start. In fact, for a long time, I didn't use words to leave my feelings and feelings. I just feel that my accumulated writing is exhausted and my heart becomes empty. Many articles have to stop writing in the middle, and I am still writing and writing. Sometimes a chapter is updated one day, and I still haven't seen it after a week. At first, I thought my inspiration was broken, so I went out for a walk and came back to write, but my heart was still empty.
For feelings, it seems that this is my eternal topic. I have written so many emotional stories, but I don't know whether the word "emotion" should be clear or vague, or I just don't understand it.
( 1)
It seems that it hasn't rained for a long time. Everything that has been mercilessly baked in the hot summer seems to have lost some moisture at first glance. The old brick building outside the window is also full of dust, which is particularly vicissitudes. Singing on the red wall of long live the motherland, there is still a faint light and shadow of the passage of time, dancing at will, telling the wind and rain it has gone through and the old days.
For me, for those who have had stories with it, it is a friend and an old friend. In the past days, in the forgotten memory, it shared many ups and downs with us, listened to our feelings silently, and contained our love and hate with its greatness and fraternity.
I always like to stare at it for no reason. Unconsciously, I always hope that through its figure, I can think of its century-old glitz, and then recall my fleeting time, for example, the innocent smile of my childhood, the tireless noise, or perhaps a passion for the world of mortals when I was a teenager. If it is young and frivolous, who is it? And the sad melody that echoes in my ears from time to time. The more you grow up, the more lonely you get. Sadness jumps from the paper, from the pen, from this ordinary speech, and there is nowhere to wander.
Or, find a corner, touch the rings of those years and count the scars. The traces of these years have been eroded by wind and rain. In the rotation of the years, some have been smoothed by the years, while others have become more and more profound as before. Perhaps there is a story hidden in every imprint, so I understand that everything in the world is somewhat similar. A person's life is not made up of stories, big and small. In the fleeting time, some of them will be forgotten, while others will accompany them until the end of their lives. This is the law. Who can break it?
Here, I want to say a few words to my friends who are struggling in endless love. I am trapped by love. This is a stage that everyone has to go through. People in temperament always do whatever they want, but some laws can't be violated. It is not advisable to forget a person and the stories he has experienced. A stranger who rushes into your world, or an acquaintance who always passes by in your world, will always be forgotten. This sentence is actually very meaningful. Take your time. I also know that some separation is really helpless. Some people are separated or isolated by family, friendship, love and this indifferent society and choose to end. I sympathize with them, but because of this, I have to forcibly forget the past that I clearly cherish. I can only say why I wronged myself. Since I can't join hands, I choose to stop and look into the distance. Even if you only see the back, you may become blurred if you look at it for a long time. That is to say, it's time for me to live a good life.
As for deliberately living in a world with him (her), I am still persistent and unyielding to those who know that it is impossible to turn back. I respect your courage in love and persistence in pursuit. I never agree with it, but I don't deny it, because sometimes, persistence in love will have unexpected results, but this kind of chance is very small, it is difficult to be together, which will only increase trouble and happiness.
(2)
Sadness or happiness, how to choose and how to face it. A shallow song at the end of summer, with that warm warmth, will inevitably add a little sadness through the rustling autumn wind, and pick up a few fallen leaves at will, but it is also full of cracks, and the fragility and vicissitudes of life can be seen at a glance. Throughout the late autumn, I didn't leave any emotions, or I don't want to bloom in this season. I just choose to stare and listen quietly and let it drift with the wind until it settles in a corner of the sea. The prosperity of that life and the displacement of this life can only be my helplessness in saying goodbye. Who knows, this is pregnant with hope or sadness, and who knows that the departure of leaves is the pursuit of the wind.
In my eyes, autumn is a sad girl, very subtle, but it doesn't give people a cold look like winter, which makes people avoid it. I like her, I like to look at her inexplicably, even if I just look at her slender back from a distance, because from her figure, I can always find a source of peace for my restless mind. Those small streams within reach flow between the origin of human nature and the complexity of reality, giving people.
A seemingly ordinary leaf always slips from our sight inadvertently between you and me, but who cares? Who is willing to listen to its joys and sorrows, those feelings floating in the wind? The story behind it, those years that carry a lifetime, is just because it is too ordinary, so ordinary that no one cares, only knowing how cold and warm it is, so ordinary that it is vulnerable. You and I have stepped without a trace, but we don't know how to break ground. Huang Feng has been to many places, but I don't understand how pitiful, pathetic and deplorable Huang Feng is. ...
In the autumn of my childhood, I always like to have a picnic with my friends. Although it is bleak and sad everywhere, we still can't stop appreciating and praising it. Its figure still fascinates us for a long time, because in its beauty, we can not only see the new moss green of rain invading the urn, but also see the moving autumn colors of autumn leaves in the forest. After careful exploration, we can also find a stop that will make our life short. Feel the true meaning of life and life, know more, understand more and care more. Whether the storm comes or several generations of glitz have become empty, let our hearts return to peace at this moment.
Riding a boat with a leaf, releasing a piece of paper feelings, that piece of paper hanging in the clear sky, at least accompanied by the fallen leaves scattered by the autumn wind, entrusted our hopes, carried the fleeting dreams, flew into the blue sky and disappeared into the clouds in the past.
Today, we have nothing in our hands, but we don't know how to find the feelings and dreams of the broken yellow flower last night. I only hope that the intact wings on the lonely kite can continue to fly with it.
Going out is a fleeting sigh, and seeing the leaves falling by the lake, I returned to the autumn night at the beginning of my dream, and I was still in bed.
(3)
At the end of the song, people can't get rid of loneliness and melancholy. It's cool at night, and you can't stop getting drunk. When I open a window of my heart, I just fill it with bitterness, close the world and lock it with sadness. Some people say that winter is a continuation of late autumn and a transition from sadness to despair. I think this is true in a sense.
A person walking home with a lonely lamp may not call home at all, but a shelter from the wind and rain. To it, you are just a passer-by, appearing or disappearing. Between you and me, it has never changed, and waiting has become indifferent, waiting for you to come in a hurry and leave gently. When you leave, you can also return a few drops of faded color. What about being at home all over the world? An empty door cannot warm the heart. Don't sigh that there are many donkeys and rafters, and passers-by are ruthless.
Silent all the way, walking slowly, listening to the sadness or happiness in the mobile phone over and over again, my heart became heavy and indifferent. Looking at the mottled light and shadow on the ground, I found that it was as lonely and messy as I was, but it was not me who was lonely, but the broken shadow. It's not me who is messy, but the heart that can't see through the ghosting stops, quietly stares, listens and feels. Is he sad? . No, maybe he's just a little tired, a little overwhelmed, a little unaccustomed to loneliness, and a little sad and speechless. Is it? How did you know? Because he has always been strong, he will never let others see his sadness. You seem to know him well, don't you? Do you know him? . No I don't. I just met a man who looks like him, but this is definitely not him.
Looking back at the distance for a long time, because only there, the noise of the city has not stopped. The cries of street vendors and the sound of bottles colliding, tumbling and breaking from time to time still tell me that people come and go there and the night there is bright, which also reminds me how lonely a person's night is. In the cold wind blowing head-on, I seem to hear the cry of autumn and the lonely singing of the same kind.
How far is home? Maybe it's just a step away, or it may be thousands of miles away. Let's leave now. The prosperity behind us has nothing to do with me. They are just a group of lonely people. They just found a reason not to be lonely and listened to each other's loneliness. Before it snows, I have to find my way when I come.
Sometimes, winter takes away the thoughts of autumn, and the silver color of the world has already covered up the inner heat.
(4)
It's getting colder and colder, but there is no snow. It seems that I am still waiting for a reason to freeze myself, or I can say that I am waiting. At the moment when the cold wind dries the tears, it will hide its little enthusiasm, disperse the lingering sadness with the wind, slowly settle down, cover up all the sores on the ground, return to its own peace, and leave the world blank.
What I want to say today is what I have experienced and what I will face tomorrow. Let those feelings that have not been modified condense at this moment. Although it hasn't snowed yet, it has snowed in my heart. Maybe it's time to leave my heart blank.