Years will bury the past

"Years, Bury the Past" | text: Years are silent

"All sorrow and pain are like the wind of yesterday"

/01/

There have been pasts, and we have met in the deepest red dust. Before the blossoms, I understood that life is nothing but a gathering. No one wants to go for a period of smoke and clouds, doing a senseless addiction.

There have been memories, there have been careless separations, and before the flowers fell, I had already drunk a cup of tea to the point of tastelessness.

Time is a green pen, with flowing ink, writing books planned by the years, from ancient times to the present, spring flowers and autumn moon, we interpret the same theme in different stories.

Time is a pen that walks for a thousand years, from the beginning to the end, it seems to be the life of the Flower Tuanjin Clan, but I don't know where to start.

Passing years, so determined, maybe we don't understand it, it has already said goodbye, in the inventory of the past years, I don't know which person, which scenery, left a deep stroke in your heart? How many marriages will pass by in the end!

Looking back at the moment, the rivers and mountains in the memory, under the drumming of countless morning bells, also dimmed the initial color, and all that was remembered was spring and autumn.

/02/

In the days of remembrance, I have lost that heartache. Maybe I walked out in the past. Perhaps in the erosion of the years to learn to forget, perhaps in the dusty memory, hidden a lot of liver and intestines, tear-jerking stories, people do not want to remember again.

How much comfort, how much calmness, how much hypocrisy, how much falsehood, all disperse with the wind and turn into dust. Life is in the present moment, and we don't have to hesitate to pick it up or let it go.

I thought that life was as long as a world away, but in fact, I only walked a few inches. What grows old in a hurry is never the scenery, but the people.

And we were all just red dust passers-by, the bags on our backs, full of the taste of the world, so heavy that we bent over. This road is hurriedly picked up, and on the day of departure, we must also learn how to let go. We always find many reasons and excuses for ourselves, blaming all the sorrows and blaming time. With weak lies, prevaricating true happiness. Tell others that our love, our hate, our beginning and end, are all involuntary.

Calm down, watch a leaf fall silently, watch a bee perch on a flower bud, watch a sandalwood incense gradually burn; or drink a cup of tea, and some unknown passerby, if there is no gossip; time passes, and does not awaken a certain picture from the past years. At this time, it will feel that time is used to forget.

Looking at Huai Su's eclectic writing, all sadness and pain are like the wind of yesterday. His story of emptiness and freedom is like flowing water and clouds, coming and going. As if to tell us that all the entanglements of mortal dust, no matter how deep or shallow, no matter cold or warm, no matter how difficult or easy, no matter rich or poor, in the blink of an eye is a smoke cloud, and why should we be so persistent and care so much.

The years are fading with the memory, and we have to forgive the goodbye we said and forget the temperature of the hug.

Image source network, invasion and deletion

author

Pen name: Silent years, like to walk while looking for the state of life, but also like to use cameras and text to record bits and pieces. There are always some strange ideas to share with friends, of course, the people who come are friends.

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