Youth is like water, and it changes a lot. After all, it can't be defeated by years, but what kind of shackles left by youth are finally destroyed by years;
Youth is like wine, half a cup of dust, which has drowned years of infatuation and resentment. It has aged our faces in an understatement, and our youth has been scarred in the fleeting time.
Youth is like a song, it begins with rhyme, and the notes of flutter and dance hook the trembling soul. At the end of the song, the lingering sound still kills our passion, but we are maturing and blooming.
Youth is no longer the blooming of Liang Chunhua in March, the blooming of fragrance, the blooming of sunny days in June, the blooming of branches, the blooming of chrysanthemums in September and the endless evening breeze of chrysanthemums.
Years have blown off the sideburns of youth, but they can't weather memories, and the flow of years can't bear the sadness of youth. Flowers bloom and fall, time flies, waiting, wind and rain fall, stained with the sadness of a season, but turned into dust on the way home. After all, the expected leaves will eventually become empty. In fact, the dust left no trace, so it drifted away in the years, but youth accidentally lost its vicissitudes in the fingers of the years.
In this way, the spiritual order of youth disappeared in the years, so that the life that was not gorgeous was slowly moving forward in the uneventful years. So one day, we became an audience, laughing at other people's plays, but forgetting that we were also the protagonist of the movie. When everything is calm, do you still remember whether you missed that wonderful plot, whether you sprinkled the purest sincerity in that beautiful picture, and whether the snowflakes falling all over the sky withered in the most beautiful posture?
When we set foot on the voyage of youth, we are sometimes torn into floating dust by the sudden "explosion" under our feet and filled with haze. Youth has gone away in the smoke, and years have become silent greetings. Whether we are sad or sad, we will be unscrupulous in our youth, lamenting those painful past and longing for those dreams and souls. Maybe we can't keep the shadow of youth leaving, can't stop the pace of youth leaving, and can't catch up with the track of youth leaving, so when youth leaves us, we must always struggle and stick to our unyielding backbone with a strong soul. Maybe we have endured indifference and drift from place to place in youth, maybe we have felt melancholy and sadness in youth, maybe we have been persistent and sad together in youth, but the "left hand" of youth is the lost years, and the "right hand" is the source of struggle, and the rings of years are finally annihilated by reality.
Blow the horn of struggle, before sunset, we will smile together and taste the sadness of youth together. Even if we can't blame our fingers for being too wide and the time is too thin, at least in the silence of the middle of the night, we will think of the sadness in our lives and can't remember when we can't stop. We are lost in reading a period of youth. Maybe many people are concerned about whether you fly high or not, but few people care about whether you are tired or not. Go into battle lightly, promise silently, and support the sails of youth with struggle.
When the tranquility of youth is only lonely, should we take a gamble and use struggle as a bargaining chip for our happiness?
The memory of life cannot be erased with the passage of time, because we don't want to choose the life of walking dead. In the silent and bleak autumn moon, when the memory is wet again, stained with the songs on the shore of the West Lake, and when the hazy moonlight floats in the eyes of passers-by, do you think of the comrades who stood side by side with you in your youth, the debaters who argued with you, and the allies who struggled side by side with you?
How much time is deposited in such memories, how many fleeting years we will hold forever, and how many tomorrow can't carry good wishes, because youth is gone, and the loneliness reflected on the ground polishes the shadow into a crystal-clear lily that blooms in the wound, while time performs its duty and dries the pain in my heart.
A piece of youth, smiling at the clouds blooming and falling, watching the red leaves fly through the ages and dying all the way, occasionally, we smile and bury the flowers in the clay figurine;
A piece of youth can't stand the promise of time and has gone through many vicissitudes. It is fleeting in the smoke, occasionally, we sigh, we can recall the past, but we can't go back to the beginning;
A piece of youth blurs the clear eyes, corrodes the sharp edges and corners, and leaves hope in the corner of our eyes. Occasionally, we climb the fence of years, hoping to entangle in the past and the unknown.
Talking and laughing, youth is walking, a piece of youth, who abandoned who, who lost in this journey of youth looking forward to struggle? Agree 0| Comment