In the years of youth, the sea is flowing, and I really want to catch the sun and the moon in heaven and the leaves in the five seas. It is true that the past has passed, and several romantic figures rely on the pride of the present. The smiling face of youth is rosy, the black hair is elegant, the beard is bright, the steps are light, and the whole body is full of vitality. The years of youth are young scenery, watching the clouds disappear freely, watching the sunshine everywhere, and watching the bright moonlight sing to the wine. Youth rejects powder, smile and posture, and beauty lies in nature. Nature full of youthful beauty. The feeling of youth is crystal clear, and there is a lyrical stream flowing in my chest. Laughter is clear and crisp, crying is incisive, love is pure romantic love, hate is plain hate, and emotions are as transparent as water. The expression on her face is like a cloud in the sky, and the wind, rain, thunder and lightning can be seen at a glance. The heart of youth is full of longing, dreams and ideals. Young people, young hearts, do not beg for unyielding, never complain, never touch pain, even if frustrated, crying is also a song of emotional release. The soil of youth germinates love, and the love of youth flies in the sky. Love is pure, love is hazy, and love is painful. Even if it is lost, there is still a distant flute in the heart, playing the moonlight song every night. In the days of youth, I feel the raindrops are fresh, the autumn leaves are quiet and beautiful, the snowflakes are like spring, the lovesickness is sweet, the fire in Shui Rou is warm, the wind is light and the stars are bright, the blue sky and white clouds are blue, the mountains are green, the paintings are everywhere, and everything is in love. . . . . . . Lips are not dirty or red, eyes are not bright; The sweetness of spring breeze, the fragrance of summer flowers, the purity of autumn frost and the whiteness of winter snow are all beautiful in the eyes of youth and turned into a long lyric poem; There is no persistent sadness in the eyes of youth. I insist on worrying about giving new words. Even though I know the taste of sadness, I still say: this is a cool autumn! Cherish friendship when you are young. You can do anything for your friends. You and your friends are like brothers. Pure friendship enriches your youth life. Youth is flying with ideals, colorful dreams, poetic songs, gorgeous poems and the youngest vitality of life. Youth flying, flying youth! Do your best in every season that belongs to you! On the horizon where the sun suddenly rises, the wind and colors of youth fly into a long and graceful youth landscape! Maybe I am a spoiled child by my mother. I am willful. I hope every moment is as beautiful as colored crayons. I hope I can draw a clumsy and free picture on my beloved white paper, an eye that will never cry, a sky, feathers and leaves belonging to the sky, a light green night and apples. I want to draw a smile that I can see in the morning, and draw all the youngest love. She has never seen a cloud. Her eyes are the color of a clear sky. She will always look at me and never turn around suddenly. I want to paint distant scenery, clear horizon and water waves, many happy rivers and hills covered with faint fluff. I let them get close, let them fall in love, and let every acquiescence become Xiaohua's birthday. I also want to paint the future. I've never met her. It's impossible, but I know she is beautiful. I painted her autumn windbreaker, those burning candles and maple leaves, many hearts extinguished by loving her, those weddings and festivals that woke up early. I am a wayward child, with cellophane and illustrations of northern fairy tales. I want to erase all my misfortunes. I want to paint windows all over the earth so that all eyes accustomed to darkness can get used to light. I want to draw a downwind, and draw one higher than the last one. Finally, I want to draw a koala in the corner of the paper. He is sitting in the dark jungle of Victoria, sitting on a quiet branch, in a daze. He has no home and no heart to stay far away. He only has many berry dreams and big eyes. I am hoping and thinking, but I don't know why I didn't get crayons and colorful moments. I only have me, my fingers and pain. All I have to do is tear up Zhang Xinai's white paper, let them look for butterflies, and let them disappear from today. I am a child, a child spoiled by my imaginary mother. I am willful.
Adopt it