Poems about angels

As time goes by, the petals of memory go to the next spring, and the petals all over the sky lose their bright colors. What I see is a sad wheat grain, with the mark left by vicissitudes of life. It is said that it is a projection of pain, recording a little nostalgia for the sad course of the last century, like water passing by. The past is like smoke, and those memories have been copied and pasted in my brain. My world is full of you-maybe my heart will miss you often. Think of the happy time when I can see you every day. I still leave the news about you where there is no you-everything about you will be forgotten one day, in the future that we don't want to forget but are forgotten by years, but you will always be in my life. That's part of my growing up, and it will never disappear. All the love, all the hate, all the wet memories in the heavy rain, all the camphor trees, all the tears and hugs, all the unforgettable scorching years, all the prosperous and scattered lives rushed to a grand death at the end of that summer solstice. They played the most beautiful embellishment, looked at the sky, looked at the snow and looked at the deep shadows of the four seasons. That boy taught me to grow up and that girl taught me to love them. They once appeared in my life and then disappeared. I don't believe they are angels. They are the most common boys and girls in the world, so I have been waiting under the camphor tree, because I believe they will come back to me one day and teach me more. Sunset-like sadness is like a melancholy bird, and the melancholy bird flies into my sunset-like sadness. Sometimes, when I wake up in the sun in the morning, I will think in a trance and think about the story that happened ten years ago. Did it really happen? I seldom remember that bridge. Only in the lonely dusk, or when the seasons change, watching the geese flying in droves, will I vaguely remember the appearance of the bridge, with big eyes, straight nose and two dimples on the corners of my mouth. It is said that boys with dimples are good at sweet talk. However, I don't even remember Duan Qiao saying those nice words to me. Time covers our life as easily as water. The only memory I remember about Duan Qiao is a story about an angel, which several of me once told Duan Qiao. I thought Qingtian was an angel in my life, who would mature and love me. But I didn't expect that the real angel in my life was Duan Qiao. He appeared in my life in a hurry. Appeared behind the checkout counter of the convenience store, and my good life appeared. He taught me true love, taught me a better life, and taught me never to give up on myself just because I come from a small city. Even children in the country can be the best architects. I still vaguely remember the fragments about him in my memory. He was born in Yongning, a small town near the sea, and he could see the sea from an early age. I have never seen snow, but I was laughed at by my classmates when I saw Beijing No.1 University. By now, he should be in heaven. When he explained his hometown to me, he said it meant eternal peace. So, is the heaven above the white clouds another Yongning? I just don't have time to accompany you to see the sea, which is my biggest regret in my life. Now I can remember you flatly, I can talk about you without sadness, I can say that I have gone to heaven without tears. I have been thinking about you for a long time. Only occasionally, your naughty face and your dimples will suddenly haunt my memory, just like when you were alive, you liked to hug me tightly from behind suddenly, only occasionally.