Memories, indelible beauty

Without leaving a trace, without leaving a nostalgia, without leaving too many complaints, without leaving a little excitement, this autumn, finally gone, quietly gone. Looking around, the scenery on the balcony is leisurely and beautiful, like a frozen landscape picture, frozen with some solemnity.

Move a wicker chair, make a cup of big red robes, and light a cigarette. The rattan chair is soft and silky, and has accompanied me through more than twenty spring and autumn; the tea leaves stretch in the cup, the tea soup is rosy, like the lips of a girl in early winter; the smoke is lingering, roaming in the air, helping me to walk into meditation.....

Suddenly, the cold wind drifted in, and the balcony was groggy around.....

If you are restless, maybe he is uneasy at all; if you don't keep yourself, maybe he can't keep himself; if you betray him, maybe he will rebel so that you only see his back..... How can there be so many hypotheses in life? How many things are not fake?

The early winter sun is slowly slipping, the tea leaves are sinking in the cup, and the cigarettes are still burning. The sun, feeling so cold, like a piece of round ice hanging in the air; the brown color is changing, becoming black-brown; the smoke chokes people, choking breathlessly...

Under the sun, the weather is dry, and the dry "snaps" straight, what about the mood? It seems to be the same as this weather, one point is on. Do a good deed, match the girlfriend, but push his husband into the arms of the girlfriend. If you give a man a matchmaker, wouldn't you sell yourself?

The sun is setting, the tea is colorless, the cigarettes are extinguished, the cold wind on the balcony is blowing vigorously, the air is cold, cold and your teeth are trembling, as if it is going to tear your clothes, tear your hair, and devour your soul in this early winter. A woman's tears are shattered in a single drop, and a man's heart is shattered as soon as it is rubbed. This winter, this is the winter of YangChun, why is there always so much speechlessness?

Is the little girl selling matches still there? Sell me boxes of matches, and in this winter, light them, light up the night sky, illuminate the stars, and illuminate those who cannot return at night. In the illusion, the mountains are full of red cuckoos, as bright as fire, as red as xia, and the temperature is slowly rising with fog, floating in the mountainside, slowly filling the whole universe.