Spring steps, and a tireless heart. I have also stepped on the green in the spring, and I have lamented the helplessness and pain of the world in the summer, but in this year, the pain in my heart has not stopped avoiding for a moment, and only with my heart can I turn the past over one by one.
I only know that when we set foot on this land, we will always find that the scars left by the years we chased after can only be cherished. So I miss those beautiful moments, just alone, looking at us, and facing those memories that cannot be separated.
Many times, we like to use loneliness to write freehand stories, use words to record moods, record the road we have traveled, and when we can still taste with our hearts, use words to record the bits and pieces of experience around us. Sometimes it is always deliberately set up, but often these things have been full of entanglements, ups and downs, and the pain of being caught, and the beauty that has been passed by time has long been sealed together with their own love.
On this somewhat indescribable day, in my free time, I thought, if it were me, I would only have to resist the temperature of the wind and feel the tranquility on this moonlit night. In my impression, autumn should be brilliant and colorful, that should be from the greenery of the mountain forest, from the mountain forest, to the fruitful mountain forest, all over the mountains; from the branches, it seems that there are lightly picked and picked long branches, at first glance, the breeze is light, there is still a wisp of slightly shy ambiguity in the forest, if looming; for example, there is a bush of wildflowers in front of my house, although simple but not ostentatious, not ostentatious but breathless, as if the wind swings willows, gently caressing willow branches.