Lyric Prose I'm Leaving 1
In the year of my high school graduation, when I had just turned eighteen, I still walked towards my dream. I dare not say what I gained in the end, but I understand that I did not let myself down. It has been a long time since I felt the feeling of picking up a pen. It has become a luxury in today's life. I was in a strange city more than 2,000 kilometers away, silently completing my pilgrimage for the long-cherished wish I had made.
During that time, there was no noise, no mobile phones, and no signal. In this vast southwest, in this beautiful city surrounded by mountains, no one recognized me. Complete strangers, completely alone, and completely free.
With a pen, two books, a notebook, and a backpack, in this era where many people have called me to take a trip on the spur of the moment, I just set off. . It even matched the same picture as what I had imagined and written countless times before.
Some people laugh at me and call me crazy. They don't even know where I am. I didn't say anything to anyone, I just struck first and then told them, and threw myself over. By the time they knew it, I was already thousands of miles away.
Read thousands of books and travel thousands of miles. Although it is less than 10,000 volumes, there must be 10,000 pages. Although I came here by train, I still traveled thousands of miles.
I don’t know whether I am traveling or wandering. I saw what I wanted to see, and walked where I wanted to walk. I slept when I was tired, walked when I woke up, and ate when I was hungry. The long windy and snowy road, the hardships and ups and downs, cannot be described in just one or two sentences. .
Every time, when I stop, I take out a kettle on the spot and draw natural spring water from the mountains. I rest my legs that are already swollen and painful. The world is so quiet, the sky is so blue that it is thrilling, and my heart is so wild. There is no smoke for thousands of miles, and the whole world seems to have given me an illusion. I am the only one walking in the vast Gobi desert. There is no fear, but an indescribable sense of noble loneliness, like being one with heaven and earth.
Put on the headphones, lie down and look at the white clouds in the distance, the flowers covering everything, it's as beautiful as a dream. This is not a diary, nor is it a story. I don’t want to write anything. I just want to remember that time. There are some things that cannot be written with a pen. I want to dig out those photos every time I am confused and tell myself, what qualifications do I have to be less courageous than myself before.
On such an amorous night, I suddenly wanted to get drunk. When I woke up, I was still in Yunnan. I was lying on the bed, listening to the song "Hibiscus Rain" in my ears, my heart couldn't stop but I was silent.
It’s been a long journey, I’ve seen a lot of flowers, I’ve gained a lot of sunshine, but I’ve also been eroded by the darkness. It’s a long way, but I left without hesitation. As time passes, I walked. Very tired. Lyrical Prose I'm Leaving 2
"Gently I leave, just as I came gently, I wave gently to say goodbye to the clouds in the western sky", whenever I pass by the place marked with the word "Cambridge" On the small wooden bridge, I could not help but sing this soft poem softly. Now I am really about to leave, but it is difficult to say "goodbye", but I sigh softly, "Sentiment has hurt parting since ancient times."
I love the blossoming snowflakes that are dancing freely in the wind, like flying catkins dancing in February. After three or five hours, I open the window and look out, but the entire Haichuan Pavilion turns into a sea of ??snow, and the trees are covered with snow and quiet. Solemn and solemn, the small world around is as white and innocent as a fairy tale. Only the north wind can be heard intermittently and gently whistling, as if singing an ancient ballad. Occasionally, a beautiful girl rushes past, her red dress is charming, but it adds a few more... It's full of spring.
I also love that the night gradually changes from light gray to dark black with the sound of bells. Not far away, one bright lamp after another lights up one after another, and the soft and clear light melts into the dark night. Those People who had worked hard all day passed through the door one after another, either an old lady holding a big cabbage in one hand and two green onions in the other, or a young couple on a bicycle chatting and laughing and making love, or a dragger. The hawker pushed a bunch of red dates with his tired body, but they were all rushing to a place called "home", just like birds returning to their nests to rest, and butterflies sleeping among flowers.
Can’t forget the gentle breeze blowing through the curtains, making a rustling sound, the minute and second hands ticking through the air, gently patting the desert night, and a person clicking at the computer. The ground beats the thoughts, ideals and reality yesterday and tomorrow are intertwined in the black and white words on the white paper, and the vicissitudes of the world, the warmth and coldness of people, all turn into a wisp of light smoke, leaving only the soft lines of words that tell today's story to tomorrow, and tell the story of today to tomorrow. All the ups and downs, joys, sorrows and sorrows become the fragrance of the heart.
Nor can we forget to hold the mop with one hand and wave the beat with the other and sing alone, shouting "Wandering, wandering, the river will never end for thousands of miles", and the worries in my chest will burst out and then disappear. , gently sing two lines of "wu da la, wu da la, ha du wu la", the seeds of hope in your heart will quietly begin to take root, sprout, grow branches and bloom, and sing the song "Mandarin ducks and butterflies are flying again, the garden is full of spring scenery" "It's so intoxicating." The deserted room turned into songs and songs, flowers were red and willows were green, and the love between children and children suddenly occurred to me. Then I suddenly thought, "Loneliness is a person's carnival." Unknowingly, I burst into laughter again.
Look again at that happy group photo that freezes a splendid moment in a young moment. The energetic smile will become a golden halo in the soft waves of memory, and the powerful momentum vaguely rings in the ears. The majestic and solemn oath and the firm belief of "Together, we win" will become a strong part of the youth experience, and the hard days of getting up early and working hard together will also become a joyful part of the road ahead in life. Jumping movement.
Touch the purple-red wooden table that was wiped over and over again day after day, look over the account details that have been cleared over and over again, caress the I walked past the cotton curtains I bought from one shop after another, leaned on the four-legged sofa that accompanied me through lonely and tiring times, looked out the window at the scattered and whirling snowflakes, and listened. The ticking wall clock that never gets tired counts the time of departure minute by minute.
The snow is still falling in the sky. I hold on to the slender waist of the little white poplar and walk along the smooth and curved path to see whose pet dog is still playing and running into a ball in the sea of ??snow. Snowball, listening to someone's music, he slipped out of the crack in the window and walked me quietly for a ride. He gently picked a crystal snow particle and turned it into a pearl. Reflecting a pair of shining black eyes, I know everything here. They will all be painted with the splendor of youth and turn into beautiful memories in the long river of time. Lyrical Prose I'm Leaving 3
The flowing fireflies cut through the darkness of the night sky, and every bit of starlight is an embellishment of loneliness. Loneliness and sadness are revealed between the lines. There are no gorgeous language, no sharp words, only shallow handwriting and faint emotions to commemorate my youth and my blessings.
If one day I leave, I will leave quietly and in a hurry. Maybe, I chose to wander, from the end of the world to the ends of the earth. The world is home, sleeping in the open air, nature is transcendent, and the soul is clear and pure.
If one day I leave, please don’t miss me, because I took away your memory, and all I left you was hurt. I robbed your feelings and occupied your heart. Then, go away with the wind, ruthless and painful.
If one day I leave, please don’t doubt my love for you. I have the most beautiful memories with you, as well as the lost but preserved little time. I took them with me. The wind gathered the fate and memories, and then let them disperse with the wind again.
If one day I leave, please hate me deeply, hate that I will be shattered to pieces, hate that I will leave no trace of my armor behind. Then please let yourself live a good life. You don't have to live long. You can end it at any time if you want. But please live a good life and love yourself well.
If one day I leave, please allow me to do this. Let me take away your pain and your unhappiness, and give you a brightness and a smile. Let me give you physical and mental health. Open-mindedness allows you to fly and let your hope grow.
If one day I leave, please promise me to love myself well. Although I am no longer qualified, you have no qualifications to hurt you. If you are healthy and blessed by your parents, please love yourself and throw away Let go of everything that is with me and love myself deeply, deeply.
If one day I leave, please let me silently bless you and pray for you day and night. Eventually, I will grow old, with gray hair and wrinkled face. As long as you are good, please let me go. When I light up the Latin lamp, that is my blessing to you.
I took away the hurt of fleeting memories, and I gave you the unfinished dream. When longing breaks through spring, summer, autumn and winter, there is no longer that bit of nostalgia waiting for you. This is maybe when you will understand the beauty of loss and the worth of giving up.
Youth is a tragic song, enveloping you and me. Unfortunately, life is fleeting and chaotic. Who said that youth never looks back. Time flies by, and time is short. The melody of the tragic song will eventually grow old, leaving you and me alone, living in separate places. In your own garden, stand loneliness into poetry.
The red fall is enchanting, and the flying goshawk dyes the song of loneliness.
Please walk your own path, live your own life, and love the people you deserve to love...
If one day I leave, please treat me as dead, please treat me as true is dead...