Heart, full, chaotic and empty.
Exile yourself in the night, sometimes standing, sometimes sitting, sometimes curled up, sighing and rowing.
Break the silence of the night, enchanting the loneliness of the world.
Years of ignorant dreams have never warmed Qian Shan's endless journey, nor have I ever understood the mysterious mystery in this ups and downs of life.
The heart is like a double screen, and it has a Qian Qian knot. Slim and sensitive people, inadvertently lost their sweetheart, used to being embarrassed with themselves, let it stand coldly and get hurt.
In the afterlife, past lives drew too many question marks in his mind, stood silently on his chest and did things coldly.
It's hard to say in my heart. The entanglement accumulated for too long finally makes the heart look like a mirror, and the story of surging clouds is not the ending I want to see, nor the grandeur I can bear. I just want to have a warm peace of mind and enjoy a quiet. Just want to, this life is not sad, not lonely.
I don't know what happened, but it was deep. I want to collect all the beautiful fairy tales that love, cherish and express love. Only then did I find that love is so difficult, so humble, so heartache, so uncertain, so powerless.
The more you love, the more lonely you are. Love is too full, so love is more lonely than not loving. Before love, tell yourself to leave some points for yourself, to love sincerely, to love proudly and to love yourself. However, I really became an insider, only to understand that love is falling step by step and retreating step by step. When I arrived in no way back, I found that it was an irreversible despair.
Ask the truth and you won't get the answer. Listening to the wind and rain can't make you sad for life. While basking in the sun, I can't feel a trace of warmth while chasing clouds. If you look at the moon and count the stars, you can't reach one side.
Not a greedy and extravagant woman, just a little headstrong and paranoid. Why is it always a small step from happiness?
Sleepy, hazy, waking up like a dream, there is always a figure you can't shake at night, which warms me and makes me chilling.
If, after dark, it is dawn, after rain, it is sunny, after calm, it is calm, withering and welcoming the next bloom.
Is it possible to let go of tears, not miss when you pass by, not regret when you love, and start over with a broken heart?
[Flowers wither and flowers fly all over the sky]
The weather, if as bright as early spring, just can't cover up the cold in my heart. Tears, flying in the deep winter morning, tear repeatedly.
I chose a thin white trench coat and put it on a cashmere plaid scarf. It looked cool, but I stubbornly put it on and went out because I liked it.
Plain clothes's bright eyes, messy thoughts and gloomy and pale face can't hide the sad feeling. It's really disappointing in the warm winter sun, and I have nothing to hide the curious eyes of others.
Unconsciously, I buried my face in a layer of scarves, where there was a familiar warmth, and I wanted to stay for a lifetime. Thinking of you, I tried my best to smile, but I smiled so distressed and fragile that I burst into tears.
In a trance, I bumped into a passerby in a hurry, and I couldn't speak except for a sorry smile. The cramped air, tides in all directions, countless noisy voices and music floating in the street are all disturbing.
Looking around blankly, the flowing eyes are shallow and gentle, but helpless and helpless.
Standing for too long, my body feels wobbly and weak. Clench your fists, grit your teeth, try your best to move your hesitant steps, and then your dizziness will slowly ease.
Fortunately, I saved an embarrassment. It's a good thing it didn't collapse.
By the roadside, camphor trees are still layered in this cold winter, so proud, so grand, so elegant, and infinitely ostentatiously indicating the approaching of spring.
The phoenix tree, however, has only pale and dry branches. Occasionally, a few yellow leaves stubbornly fall in love with the branches. When the wind rises, it will slowly sway in the sky, just like a withered flower flying all over the sky, confusing and stumbling, like a low-key ending after a grand play.
When flowers bloom, it's hard to stay. Who has pity when the fragrance dies? How much affection, how much tears, how much marriage to find a partner, were drunk by the beautiful and heartbreaking "Mourning Song" written by this handsome princess? Flowers will bloom again, but love was once hard to find. When flowers are buried, the dust is getting thicker, but can the buried love last long?
Heart, trembling slightly, dull pain. Uncontrollable beauty and depression, like life and love, are unpredictable praises to life.
Wandering, empty, bustling street view, only loneliness in my heart. I dare not look up at the bright sky, because I always lose in every confrontation, and I have to swallow my tears to cover up my vulnerability.
[Love is like snow, never touching dust]
Once, you, gently calling. I woke up suddenly. You, through the storm. As far as I'm concerned, I hope Qianshan follows the trend.
How can ability get rid of the scar in love? How can I sing and dance all the way on the road of love, regardless of sadness? How can we keep it forever?
If life is just like the first time, there is only the joy of heartache, only the affectionate gaze, only the gentle smile, only the warm snuggling, no neglect, no complaints, no harm, no tears, wouldn't it be great?
With a face of indifference and hesitation, walking in the noisy street, I don't know what to look for in the crowded crowd. The year is approaching, the air is filled with overwhelming flavor of the year, and the deep-rooted resistance to festivals for many years makes the mood inexplicably depressed, empty and lively, and ethereal and happy. I am really tired of being a happy bystander.
The light is on, dim and cold. At present, a fireworks display is in full swing, spreading brightly in the air, such as petals lightly sprinkled, stars dotted, and sweet words, but in an instant, it disappears into the smoke, dissipates in the cold, and is hope, disillusionment and unknown in the rising fog, but the long pain can be clearly perceived.
Natural indifference and concession led to half a life of loneliness. I cling to a dream, filter out those curious or distressed eyes, resist the world noise brought by the world of mortals, and stick to thinness and purity. Even though my eyebrows, pupils, skin and face are covered with traces of loneliness, I am still proudly alienated.
The quiet face has never broken the warm hope, and occasionally I think of the beautiful future, birds and flowers, butterflies flying, lovers' smiles all over the sky, forgetting all the vicissitudes of life, leading a drunken life and dumping years.
Is the world of mortals destined to be a broken imagination? Years of wandering alone have become thin lines of type, and the quietness of habit has condensed into a touch of humble light in the bleak time.
Fingertips cool, eyebrows sad, eyes locked with acacia. I look forward to the surprise of spring flowers facing the sea, which will accompany me from generation to generation and add fragrance to Iraqi tea.
Sunshine, the more beautiful, the more dazzling. Fireworks are exhausting. I, on the other hand, yearn for crystal-clear and moist snow, so quiet and cool, but beautiful and flawless without impurities.
Embrace yourself with your arms and say to yourself, "Love is like snow, never contaminated with dust!" " "