Time flies, time flies. Come and go in a hurry, and finally you can reap.
Still a heavy memory, full of a pigment that never fades in emotion. On white paper, familiar words are always written, so that sadness often blooms in happiness and inadvertently blooms in memory.
When we have gone far, when we have passed away, when all people and things have gone far with time, they are constantly aging and showing their final appearance.
The tone of sigh, no matter how understated, is still yesterday and the past that can't be returned.
Some predestinations are like water in the palm of your hand. When you let go of your hands, nothing exists. Even if you remember the first clear appearance, the final reflection will always become a vague memory.
In this way, we sit quietly at the end of time, watching the world of mortals come and go, flowing endlessly, holding our past and sadness, and watching everything change and prosperity fall.
After all, it is still a person's sadness.
Walking in the dust, constantly meeting, and constantly leaving, isn't this a reincarnation? Flowers fade and bloom, flowers fade, just because they are destined to go to Qiu Lai in the spring of this season, and they dare not violate it.
Our meeting and parting are also among all sentient beings, staying for walking and leaving for staying.
In this way, I lingered at the window of the night, thinking repeatedly about life, passers-by coming and going on the road of fate, and instant sadness overflowed on the spread notes. I can't think of those messy but stupid fantasies. If we don't part, there will be no last memories. Are we all strangers if we don't meet? So there are no sad memories.
Memory, like dust sleeping in the window lattice, has gone through dozens of centuries. With a broom sweeping the floor, it flies in the air with the wind, sweeping the world in front of it and floating darkly.
Those familiar people, in a blink of an eye, are clear memories, unforgettable hearts, full of too many memories.
I remember all the people who used to be, no matter where they were scattered at this time, but they also gave me warmth and care.
However, looking back is a memory after all, and sometimes there will be a wave of thoughts. In those emotional times over the years, I remember too many familiarity and strangeness. In this way, we walked around in our memories and counted the past.
Time has passed. In the days when autumn is getting deeper and deeper, I inadvertently remembered an unforgettable love. I promised never to change my mind, and I promised to be in the same boat through thick and thin.
Until now, I still live alone. Those who have agreed to help each other in the same boat can't help falling asleep, and they have already withered, and there is no trace.
If, when it becomes a memory, please remember that once, in your world, I walked with you seriously, through the path near dusk. Later, not because I was separated from you, but because you walked too fast, I never kept up with your pace and gradually disappeared into your world, and there was no back.
If we become memories. I still miss you in the autumn when I can't come back. I miss you bit by bit, whether it is clear or vague, I will choose not to disturb every fallen leaf that falls on my shoulder, and walk quietly in the silent time alone. I just want to spend it in my memory forever, and there will be no reincarnation from now on.
If we become memories. Please bury me deeply in the picturesque soil and watch the spring flowers and autumn fruits.
If there is no if, then please let my appearance fly in the happiness of your life, let me drift with the wind, with all my attachment to you, and then go through the vicissitudes of the four seasons.
If we become memories. In your years, singing a song about the past in a soft and euphemistic tone can also make you gentler. Please remember that I am still in that song about the past. In the lonely night, he wrote a lonely soul into a rhyme that you couldn't hear, and there was no melody from then on.
In front of the memory door, I racked my brains to think about your appearance. Past scenes, in the scars soothed by years, have finally become unreadable memories.
Looking back, there is no familiarity. We shuttled back and forth in the secular landscape and became passers-by and never saw each other again. I gently hold the fine pieces precipitated by time, wandering heart, come and go, forget while walking, lonely and lonely, and the rest have become the memories of my last chapter.