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Weeds grow into a meadow.
Weed tendrils, dew shining on the grass.
There is a beauty, and it is clear and beautiful.
It's perfect for me to meet a real coincidence.
Wild weeds grow in rows, and dew is round and round on the grass.
A beautiful woman is walking on the road, with clear facial features and beautiful and moving.
Meet and borrow it from your son.
There are always some clips that flash before my eyes but I haven't had time to enjoy them. There are always some conversations that pass by my ears but I haven't had time to listen. There are always some words that slip through my mind but I haven't had time to record them.
And the dribs and drabs of life finally converge into a slow or urgent stream at this moment, carrying the gurgling sound of running water and the forgotten past, heading for an unpredictable future.
A person's life may end like this, serene, like a stream.
In fact, we have a lot, but we will miss the sunset behind us when we have to leave again and again.
Go on like this step by step, cruel and strong.
This independent fork in the road points not only to life.
In fact, we are changing a little bit-wet wings are dried by years, indomitable flight, hurricanes and rain.
One day, there will be a flood from my heart to my throat-I want to shout, "I've grown up."
Whether the years have changed us or we have changed the years.
I often hope that even at the end of the years, there is another kind of life beckoning to us.
If there is no death ...