I walked into the dusk
Dusk, a desolate term of time, often appears in my words. I like to write about the scenery at dusk.
There is no shallow beauty at all, only a thick concentrated color-deep.
Dusk has different colors in everyone's eyes, but silence and vicissitudes have accumulated its eternity. Dusk is not only the sadness of late autumn sunset, but also the obscurity like oil painting.
The sun painted a large area of orange and chardonnay behind her, and the clouds were embedded in the dream of the sea, in the dusk of the desert.
What is more beautiful and charming is that there are often clouds and lightning in summer, which outlines a fantastic scenery-a mirage.
Silver-brown arc flashing, trees and rivers in the sky swaying between galaxies, in the evening moonlight.
In the long river, read Hugo's tragic world and stroll along the Seine River. ...
In the evening, I was listening to Dumas telling his love story. Redemption and repentance take place at dusk,
Kindness and deception are cunning and insidious, which are related to romantic dusk.
I collected maple leaves at dusk and pinched a gardenia that La Traviata liked. That was thirty years ago.
I was seduced by the red maple leaf, psychedelic by the scent of gardenia, and had my first love.
I put them in the photo album of my first love, and the underglaze red has faded, turned brown and has faint lines.
Like a photo of a naked reef, it smells like grass. And the smell of sweat on my body.
Sometimes I wonder: What would a sunset dream look like? From Hemingway's memory, I know the joy and bitterness in the sunset.
Have melancholy memories; He has gone through so many trials. ...
His characters, handsome reporters and beautiful nurses, huts surrounded by coconut trees in the moonlight,
Fishermen often drink thick absinthe with you, and his old man's house and the sea are your loneliness at dusk.
After the last ray of sunshine at dusk, you left. I know you are full of gloom, and you are not a decadent escape.
It's not the end of the spasm, it's the war and the bullets in your body that destroy your spirit and mind.
I sometimes fear dusk, the scenery at dusk is like blood, the kitchen smoke also whimpers and gasps, and crows are on dead trees.
Looking sideways at the paradise in the west; "to see the sun, for all his glory, buried by the coming night." A kind of confusion ...
I have some regrets and sadness. I think of Lu You who fought in the battlefield, and I also think of Dusk in the Lonely Village and A Dream of Red Mansions.
The shadow hangs over me, thinking of the palace wall Liu and Wan 'er, and feeling the declining life of the confidante.
Dusk is a cup of rich wine, turbid wine, how many sorrows are silenced by the brewing and polishing of the years, and how many poems and paintings are intoxicated.
How much is a blend in the world of mortals; Eternal wine songs, even if you have a fascinating past, it is also a memory of your body.
If the ignorance of youth is a watercolor painting, the years have been erased and the brightness and lightness at that time have been lost. The moon goes west and the dawn begins.
Walking sunshine, today there are only immature traces, leaving only a pale piece of paper embedded in memory.
Youth and middle age is a sketch or splash of ink, and the childish message is romantic, euphemistic and uninhibited, with a little coquettish.
And the charm of dusk. Look at the master's colorful paintings in the sunset. ......
Dusk is the turning point and starting point of life. Not frivolous and impetuous, just a heavy oil painting, mottled and dripping.
Chaotic colors, no purple and beauty, more thoughts and intentions.
Skinny freehand brushwork, harsh and desolate contrast, withered and lonely autumn, there is a cracked tree, independent in
On the wasteland, there is no beautiful wind, only cold wind, trees and wind are talking and kissing the artistic conception of this dusk.