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When it rained when I was young, heaven was closed.
1, in the morning
A cold day
Cold rain
In the cold air
Walk with those indifferent people
A cold day
Cold rain
In the cold air
Count how many cold people there are.
2, passers-by
youth
That's the only way
Inadvertently, youth won.
Silence again, the water is beating and drifting.
What comes and goes without a trace is the most beautiful story.
Legend of the years
When stories are condensed into memories
A seal is an eternal label.
3. Lake
Childhood imagination.
Dreams in Paradise Garden
Life is a magnificent garden.
Love is the brightest rose.
The future is blue and far away.
Rain in June and drought in July
Sprinkle water and bake at will
Once pure and plain water.
lonely
It's nine o'clock today.
My poem
Still floating on the lotus leaf, crystal clear
Tears in the sky
Has been hit hard on the ground.
My people
Wandering outside the window of heaven
begad
Sleeping in chains at Genting.
5. It won't be Don Quixote, will it
Through heaven
I'm just passing by.
Just myself.
Silence continued in the clearing.
Turn all corners.
Add another dress.
Take a sip of spring water.
Or a person
time flies
The story of a season when the west wind blows down
Shadow stands on the edge of freezing, regretting yesterday.
No temperature, no sound.
There is only one heartbeat flashing in the air.
The sad crystal cup overflows the wine of time.
It's heartbreaking but extraordinarily beautiful.
Who wove a sunset-like wedding dress with a spinning wheel?
Let you be the last bride
Send you a girl without sadness.
Let life rise and fall
The paper boat of childhood has long been stranded.
Looking for dreams along the dry river
We are wandering dandelions.
Dancing lightly towards sea and the sky.
All the stories
Just the beginning
No ending
youth
All endings have been written.
All the tears have also flowed out.
I suddenly forgot what kind of beginning this was.
On that ancient summer day that is gone forever.
No matter how hard I pursue it,
Young you are just passing by.
And your smiling face is shallow.
After sunset, it gradually disappeared in the "group haze"
Then open the yellow title page.
Fate has bound it badly.
I looked at it again and again, with tears in my eyes.
But I have to admit.
Youth is a book that is too hasty.
On the night of forty-five.
Suddenly I remembered her young eyes.
Think of the summer when she was sixteen.
Walking slowly towards him from the hillside.
The sunshine outside the forest is dazzling.
Her skirt is so white.
Remember that hill full of tea trees?
A cloudy sky
And cicadas in my ears.
In the silent forest
I love tonight.
Look back at the mountain road when you come.
Only to find that our days are over.
In a completely different way
I have been here and gone.
A vision so enthusiastically planned.
Such a blueprint drawn carefully and accurately.
I was so eager for youth.
But always
Never been here.
Write letters to young people
If I have to remember.
Those good old days.
Why so many years?
There can only be one direction.
Like bauhinia.
Have a short fragrance.
Memorizable and unrecoverable
It is brighter than yesterday's sunshine.
When I deeply understand
Can't catch the skirts of time
There is nothing to splurge on.
There are only empty bags left.
Spend the rainy season under an umbrella
Please let me look back again.
Take a look at the ferry of youth
That young face