Asakusa wind chimes
Good morning, dear!
Pushing open the window is another brand-new day.
Accustomed to such a rhythmic life, a person is a world.
The wandering wind stirred up the fragrance of hair and disturbed this quiet morning. Standing quietly on the open-air balcony on the sixth floor, I feel as if I am mixed with inexplicable sadness. Flowers bloom and fall, speaking out of turn, sometimes I fantasize that I am drinking a cup of fragrant tea alone in the same place, watching the playful children happily and recording those beautiful moments.
I don't know when, but I am used to being in a different place. Every day, different roles are changing, just like a diversified farce, scattered, long or short, faintly floating, chic as a cloud, light as water. Looking back at the sea of clouds and mountains and rivers, every time I look back inadvertently, can I really get my warm arms?
Looking back and smiling, it seems amazing. Stranded for a season, it seems destined to bloom in warm June, just like a Jiangnan woman wearing a soft tulle, dancing in a cheerful melody, lingering in her dreams. ...
Tired, unconsciously, life seems a lot lighter. I pondered in the corridor of the years. Those dreams have long been lost in the muddy secular world of mortals. I quietly picked up the broken dream woven by flowers and looked at the scenery over the years, just like the montage lens that was eagerly switched, flashing again and again, repeating again and again, and I couldn't find the protagonist and story. ...
Look at the time, one day I packed my backpack and hurried on a bus to go to work. Usually such a big car, the space at this time is extremely narrow, back to back, shoulder to shoulder, and every shortness of breath seems to touch each other's cheeks. Outside the window is a flash of scenery. Inside the car are a pair of indifferent and faint eyes, which seem subtle, but they are a true portrayal. Workers, farmers, white-collar workers and students all have a dream. They may not say it, but they are all working hard and struggling for it. In a trance, they realize that they are actually the most common working group among them, just a person, a simple person. ...
Perhaps it is for this reason that I fell in love with words and the liberation of writing. The blank screen is the object of my own narration and seems to be the only bosom friend. I don't need to think much, let alone say nice words. You know, I know, actually this is the true meaning of life.
Whenever I am free, I always like to turn over my notes. A vague feeling is a profound understanding, and sometimes it is just a habitual action. I knocked out my happiness or sadness on the keyboard, crossed the stream of time, looked at myself quietly in my soul, and found my once simple self.
I don't know if time flies too fast, or if the years are intoxicated with the years. Waiting for June, there are too many expectations, strolling around the corner with beautiful scenery, smelling the flowers passing by, indulging in this charming season, standing on the other side of the glass world, soothing the silence of thoughts and diluting the prosperity of the world, knowing that it will make you happy.
Turn on the computer, play a favorite song, sit still and think back. In fact, I am so happy every day, not for anything else, but for that restless heart. Many times, I just think quietly and let all the beautiful things bloom quietly. Even the lingering thoughts are lush and enchanting.
Sometimes I suddenly think of my dream, but it seems difficult to touch and find it at this moment. At the moment I stood at the crossroads, I still chose today's scenery. Although there is not much laughter, every time I go forward, I have branded myself with a deep birthmark, which I can't erase, because it is a kind of wealth and because it was once.
When you are tired, you will find a place to calm down. What are you actually paying attention to now? Is this an easy life? Or those dreams? I don't know if this feeling is the legendary "* * *", or the broken thoughts under the dim light, or a pear flower falling outside the window in my dream. ...
Living in a noisy city, I miss the countryside very much. Maybe I'm really old and nostalgic. A deep alley, walking quietly, adds a bit of ancient flavor. Perhaps, the vicissitudes of the world make too many hearts full of burdens, but a quiet corner, memories, in the dream of meeting. ...
Postscript: Deep silence devours countless lonely hearts. The fleeting time is short, and no one can possess it forever. But if you keep it in mind, you will never waste time.