The scratches of time leave us with contemplation and emotion
The trajectory of life is like a river, and no one can stop its eternal flow. The universe of heaven and earth is its watershed, and the vast human heart is its riverbed; there are fallen leaves in the cold wind in the four seasons, there are flowers blooming in the sun, and there are young shoots that have just sprouted in the spring rain; there are faltering old people in the time and space of life, there are heroic young people, and there are also childish children.
Time is like an indefatigable silkworm, deeply entangled in the heart of every strand of memory. In many days and nights, there is always a faint sadness that creeps in, making people unable to help themselves. Whether you are happy or unhappy, in the indifferent red dust world, the days are constantly rotating, the waves are not happy, and there is no trace.
Extracted from the life of the sun and moon rotation is a line with traces of blood and sweat, driving away the waves. In the vast journey, there are two footprints trapped in the quagmire of life, desperately trying to break free from the difficulties of the world, time is frozen in a certain moment of life, a few pale whiskers can not cover the wrinkled face, dust tyrannical. People are old and mournful. Withered greed, hanging down the hill where time has abandoned. Standing in the lonely rings of the year, the soul of life has no place to inhabit. Fallen leaves drift away. The ground is full of wet thoughts.
The flowers blossom and fall, grow old in the rotation of the four seasons, and the old fruit once again hangs a smile on top of the new fruit. Quietly, quietly watching the sunrise and sunset, watching the sunset in the west burn, burning into the most brilliant wisp of light. Standing on the river of the years, I saw that the tide of the future was surging forward, and everyone was a boat in the waves, and every ship had to reach the final port.
One unforgettable moment after another is left on the journey of life. These moments may be dazzlingly brilliant, perhaps frighteningly dark, perhaps as wonderful as a fairyland, perhaps as terrible as a trap, perhaps as a success that millions of people have noticed, or perhaps a deficiency that can never be made up... You want to linger in these moments, revel in your joys and successes, or indulge in your sorrows and sorrows, but it ignores them and still walks at the same pace into the distance, leaving you behind. It is the same, coming and going, never stopping. The footsteps of time are reverberating on the earth...
Open the lock of life and see the obscurity of youth, the romance of adulthood, and the calmness of middle age. The sweetness of the first love, the mutual support of the partner, the joy of the sun around the knee, are all the nodes of life. Whether it is achievement or helplessness, whether it is the warmth of the world, or the desolation of the world. All have become traces that cannot be disappeared.
Time stretched out a pair of invisible hands, cruelly tearing the calendar page by page, and no force in the world could lock these hands. It turns today into yesterday, yesterday into history. When the familiar past is gradually distant, the unfamiliar future is approaching step by step.
The clouds in the sky, the roads on the ground, the waves in the sea, the bridges on the river, the trees in the forest, the tall buildings in the city... The white hair on the old man's head and the life spots on his face are its works, and the purity and passion in the eyes of young boys and girls have left traces of our lives.