-inscription
The footsteps of time always pass by in a hurry, and before I can grasp it, it has gradually drifted away from me. The past once again occupied my mind, and my thoughts were surging. I turned to yesterday's yellowed diary. I can't forget it, but I dare not think about it The more I forget, the colder my fingers are, and the more ridiculous I feel about time. So, I calm down, cut for a period of time, play a little song, and pursue the original heaven and dream.
Unconsciously walking in the deserted street, I saw the trees on both sides of the road and knew that it was another autumn with falling leaves, and the wind was blowing wildly, sweeping away the beauty and romance of my life. The tree endured and asked nothing more. I just hope that the fallen leaves are not ruthless and turn into spring mud to protect flowers. In the field in the distance, the old man is playing the old tune of the pipa, the boy is flying a kite freely, and I am on the road, moving forward with no end in sight, retreating and unable to find the direction. Only fallen leaves are laughing at my ignorance, laughing at my ignorance. At this time, I picked up a fallen leaf, and suddenly, we all cried, only to understand that there are always several trips to youth. After every trip, maybe we will grow and mature.
The thread of time, sitting on elegant thoughts and walking on paper memories, wind and rain are just essays in the mood of sadness and joy. Listening to the wind and rain in the shallow rain is like picking fragrance in the palm of your hand, turning a few purples in your hand and floating quietly, gently explaining your feelings in thousands of turns.
I didn't know how much I was worried until I turned around. It was like a dream, and the flowers drifted away, sighing the world of mortals and hating. Beautiful scenery, but it says "residual lotus listens to the rain"! The cold melody of brocade and ink refers to the incomprehensible flower wound. Ink and ink are like a pool of blue, splashing a faint fragrance and condensing in the eyebrows. It's the height of Cangshan Mountain, the blue light of dreaming, the night wind that floats by, and the faint neon aperture that shines on the vigorous phoenix tree. With a stroke of a pen, the sunset blossomed, and the old black and white broken glass was uncovered.
Through the cycle of memory, stay in the corridor of time, looking for people who are lost like me, lost memories, maybe they will be overbearing in youth and unscrupulous in years like me.
Those may be my vague distance, but I can't escape the cycle of this life. Always appear inadvertently, often the night is long, and finally fall into the track of memory. With the endless train sound, my heart is exhausted, but those memories that I can't shake. Into eternity, deeply buried in my heart. If life is like the first time, maybe it is. I wonder if anyone will lose themselves on this road after many years. Will you also pick up a fallen leaf and ask yourself repeatedly, what have you gained in this fleeting youth? I only hope that the fallen leaves can answer and cherish the youth I can still grasp.
Dancing light and shadow, lead flowers were washed away and disappeared into the depths of those memories. Without warning, they quietly pushed some thoughts to the other side. Looking at the desolation and fading of flowers in that season, can time really take them away? Those wordless silences make the figure standing in the rain look thinner and thinner, and the vicissitudes of life can make people forget their worries, and the sighs that have passed away for many years can make them.
I kept asking, and then I measured every inch of land with my feet. Those lost years, those lost scenery, like slides, keep flashing in front of our eyes. And those wandering courses, into a touch of surprise at the bottom of my heart, also gathered into an endless river pregnant with the unknown.