Flowers are white, birds are white, and the sky is white.
The world is white, the platform in front of the door is white, and the number plate in the hand is white.
Pale hands, blank memory.
2
Memories are colors.
Memory is turning over the white wall covered with moss, touching the red color of the plastic runway, smelling the familiar smell and pushing open the gray-blue iron gate.
Memories lingered in Class Five for nine years, left Class Five for eight years and came to Class Five for seven years. Memories are our harbor.
Memories are that migratory birds smile when they see the beautiful names on the resettlement list, but they regret the future and the deep blue sky and never want to look back. Miss, miss, miss, let Wu Qin turn green and let young feelings sprout again.
Memories, memories, what is it like? Is it inexplicable sadness, a green face, or-are you crying and shouting "I'm sorry", but you are numb in tears in reality?
It's like a young bird dropping its irretrievable feathers.
If one day, time goes far. It has nothing to do with the eventful years, just memories.
How much I want, how much I want-
Sitting on the windowsill against which poplar trees lean, the hot sunshine hits the body, which no longer has that kind of boredom, but warms people's hearts and warms a heart from the future. I like wild flowers and weeds outside the window. In spring, I saw them born in MengMeng, shy and green. In summer, I envy their freedom and colorful; In autumn, I sigh my boundless vicissitudes of life, and the leaves are withered. Winter-
No, I don't love them in winter, the deep cold in their devil's eyes and their biting pain.
No, I hate winter. I am so lonely, and I am still trying to be brave. In the boundless ice and snow, in the cold winter wind, they don't know the taste of loneliness. They don't know me, but they do Loneliness, desperate loneliness, such as total annihilation and messy attack, cruelly make me lonely, lonely. Loneliness is a person's night. Writing memories of yourself and others, a solo, gorgeous but ... how pitiful?
Weeds, flowers, poplars, spring, autumn, summer and white winter.
Mottled memories overlap and stagger, and the breeze blows the white paper on the table and blows it into the unknown distance.
After generations of reincarnation, the flowers finally came to the third summer in their lives. They no longer bloom freely. They embraced each other and were in full bloom. Will eventually return to the dust! Hug each other sadly and bless each other.
Summer is a lonely and rainy world.
I wander in the past sunset, step by step, drop by drop.
It's raining. It's a roaring rainstorm.
There are countless ripples under your feet. I stopped to listen to the rain and let it beat.
The rest of my life is in dusk, cold touch, and unspeakable loneliness.
Break up.
White, white, white, heavy rain wet my pale pupil, washed the world into white, washed the memory into white.
……
Memories will be broken.
Crescent moon white, rain blue white,
Memory is white, but my memory is blank.
three
Missing is a faint sadness.
Missing is knowing that I will never see you again.
Missing is silent, missing is dull pain.
Memories break into white, and thoughts turn into white. Unforgettable sadness.
Ah, miss, it's not the particles that let the wind wreak havoc. They solidify into pearls. Although they have been suffering in the shell for a long time, they will eventually light a gentle light in a corner of the sea.
White overflowed into a river.
Dandelion is white, falling white, missing white.
four
White is reserved for nostalgia, and white is reserved for expression.
White is eternal, and you can never go back.
My memory is blank, leaving an eternal emptiness.
Huayang white, wild rose white, homing pigeon white,
Sadness is white, memory is white, missing is white,
The windmill in the city is white, and the frozen ocean is white.
The whole world is white.