The world of mortals is lonely and the years are rough. In a blink of an eye, autumn is already late. Time is so useless, it seems that these many years have been slipping away from me so quietly.
On a frosty and dew-heavy autumn day, I stand alone in front of the window where the chrysanthemums are in full bloom. I raise my head and watch the formation of wild geese and the white clouds. I lower my eyebrows and smell the fragrance of chrysanthemums. People are as light as chrysanthemums. I feel compassion for my ears. , you can vaguely hear the sound of flowers blooming in the long wind. The world of mortals is noisy, and the dust has not yet settled, but the bright time has turned around beautifully.
The calendar is torn off page by page, and the green years have long gone. The years have brought too much helplessness. Day after day, the heart is gradually approaching old age. Yesterday's tenderness was still thinking about beauty, but today the persistence has faded.
Is it because I have sunk too deeply, or are I tired of the complicated world of mortals? Lock your heart tightly, try to escape from everything around you, no longer care about worldly affairs, and forget everything you once had, what you lost, and the sadness that remains in your heart.
I just want to rely on the warm sunshine of autumn, browse the pleasant time, read a Tang poem, a poem of Song Dynasty, meditate silently, think carefully, let my thoughts wander in the dream of fallen leaves, and sing softly in the wind , getting drunk in the season of red dust and smoke.
When walking in the complicated world, standing in the complicated world, there are always too many disturbances, detained in the depths of memory.
After many dreams, I can still see that my face is still the same as before. The innocence and carefree time of my youth are still vaguely visible, and they will last forever. Sing over wine and write with your friends. Faces that are both familiar and unfamiliar often float before my eyes. Some things forget how the story began. The years are passing by with boos and hidden sorrows.
Although some people have drifted away. Some thoughts are still engraved in my heart. At the ferry of time, the oaths left behind are too light, but the longing given to people is too heavy. The years of smoke and clouds that cannot be dissipated, and the endless dreams that can never be poured out, cannot swim through after all. I can only use my tearful fingertips to thread needles and threads to mend the pale void in my heart.
In the shadow of time, the years are so ruthlessly depriving me of everything I once had in my life. If life can be repeated and time can stay, I don’t want to leave any regrets.
If possible, I want every flower in the world to bloom and let them meet each other by chance. From now on, there will be no sadness in the world, and there will be no more separation in life. I wish all encounters in the world, It all became a reunion after a long absence.
Let the joy of life continue to spread in the cycle of seasons, and let every yearning in life be touched by time.
The hard-to-get-back past is immersed in the long river of time, and the graceful thoughts are gently rippled. The old days cannot be brought back, and the once shameful girl's heart can no longer be restored. I can no longer recapture the handsome young man I once was.
I asked time lightly, why are there joys and sorrows, separation and separation, joy, anger, sorrow and joy? Things in the world have never changed since the Tang Dynasty and the Song Dynasty. What is left in the present world and the past is only infinite sadness and loss.
Now that I have fallen from the Buddha to the human world, I have seen through all these ordinary stories one by one. The pain of growing up and the torment of the years are left to the future to savor slowly.
Let the years pass by, keep a simple heart, laugh at the joys and sorrows of the world, and look at the joys and sorrows of the world indifferently. In the courtyard in late autumn, pick up the autumn leaves all over the courtyard and admire the east fence quietly. Chrysanthemums, boil a pot of autumn coolness, read a piece of paper to cheer up, keep your heart warm, live peacefully, in ordinary days, love madly and deeply; in the silhouette of time, smile gently, collect every accumulation of years. A fragrance, harvest every touch given in the fleeting years.