【Past dust, a smile]
Text: Falling snow stains dust
December is halfway through, and winter is halfway through. The north wind is long, the cold blows into the time at the end of the year, and the cold is deep, year after year. The story is nothing more than a trivial life that is turned over and over, whether there is a taste or not, and that is it.
The epidemic in Xi'an is capricious, and recently it has become more serious, mixed with the northwest wind, and I don't want to go out. Bored pulled down the phone.
The good thing about the Internet is that even though I'm thousands of miles away from you and have never met, I can see the story in your words.
Envy others, but also admit their own impermanence, no long things. In the years of slow travel, I saw fireworks and fireworks, saw the grass and trees, even if the leaves fell, I could look at it a few times. I know they're unremarkable, nothing extraordinary, but I'm such a tacky person.
If you want to write about the past, it is not a misery or a complaint, but a simple turn to the past and want to write a few words, because the sorrows and joys of this world are never connected.
Rewriting the past is just to make the present self see more clearly and clearly, and it is less likely to be shaken by the world.
It turns out that time can really make people let go of many things, many years ago it was difficult to say the inferiority of the past, many years later can be said with a light smile.
It turns out that all the unbearable looks, this past year, although you can't forget the dust, you can also laugh it off.
After a chill in his youth, he will not be too attached to many things now, and he will not be as plain as water with anyone, and will not produce excessive sorrow and joy.
In fact, time has not forgotten everything, nor has it been relieved, but I just feel that it is just that. There is no forgiveness, no letting go, just indifferently not to dwell on those.
When I was a teenager, I was inferior and withdrawn, even if I was no longer young. Still lonely, I don't like to associate with people.
Circle yourself a world, write your own heart story, in this small piece of quiet solitude, be a taciturn person, peaceful and comfortable.
Author: Falling snow stained dust
A person who is accustomed to memories, a person who is accustomed to not being able to put it down, a red dust passerby who is upside down and displaced. Three thousand passers-by, ten zhang red dust, meeting you is fate, thank you for your liking.
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