A person's loneliness, it is difficult to say the best in a few words. In poetic terms, everything will no longer be so strange.
Page by page, turning over the book catalogue, page by page, the beautiful poems are full of the poet's unique sadness, and there are endless confusions in the sadness. It's poetry, as if it were picturesque. There are pictures in the poem, page by page, presented in front of only connected hearts.
This is a good poem, a beautiful poem. It is the poetic soul of the poet.
I've been looking for a place, and I've been looking for someone who can give my soul to it silently, with no regrets. I'm loaded. Life is picturesque, years are like songs, and youth is like poetry! What the poet said is my heart! ! When I was young, what a wonderful and happy thing it would be if I could record every bit of life with my notes, if I could extend this happiness to a very high place and interpret it in poetic language! ! This is exactly what I am willing to pay attention to for youth. In the poet's beautiful words, I seem to see my real beating heart. I don't write book reviews easily. I only leave a few words about the works I like and admire. My heart is with you! Your poem touched me deeply at a certain moment! This kind of touching may accompany me all my life in towards the distant.
These poetic sentences are injected into the softest corner of my heart. I always think that wandering, wandering in other places, is a beautiful state of mind, or romantic amorous feelings! ! More often, wandering and wandering in other places is just another brilliant sun in the hearts of young people. In the autumn when I was 20 years old, I ran away from home and started a real wandering journey. Once, my inner voice told me that vagrancy is the truest beauty of life. When I was a teenager, I saw Sanmao's works, only to know that the tramp was full of different feelings, wandering, wandering in the distance, a wandering individual, full of beauty and sadness. In the poetic life, those vagrancies or topics about vagrancy are just poems that have not been revised in time! The poet's fine print has exhausted the endless meaning of wandering.
Yesterday, I have been looking for the @ White Wall in the depths of my memory. Who is on it, and casually carved the lines of youth and publicity!
Light a column of incense and burn it in your heart. I don't want to find my way home after many years.
Some people have gone and will never appear again. Some people come and can't return their original promises.
I like a person's loneliness. In the early morning or dusk, I quietly carve a promise in the background of years, like a flower, a face that is not a flower, which stirs up love.
I am a snail, carrying a thick shell every day, dreaming in other people's world.