The seasons are secretly swapping, but they can't turn my yesterday. It flew away helplessly, like a butterfly, with pity that I had squandered, its wings fluttering softly, drawing a beautiful arc, leaving only a touch of intoxicating tenderness in my pale eyes.
I gradually opened my eyes in surprise and took the shock in my heart, and the misty mist of my eyes stained its sigh, astringent, so soft, so sour. The moment the curtain fell, it had flown between time and space, without my touch.
If I had stopped at this yesterday, would I still be sitting on that bench and watching the wind blow low and watching how autumn fades its color? Gently, there are songs falling from the branches, and the sound of breaking is staggered in the wind, reverberating, and staggering again.
People in the wind, come and go, go and come, the same is just a body of loneliness, yesterday has been old, today with what kind of appearance appeared in front of me, all of them are replaced, forget and remember, this is the trajectory of life, no one can get out, can not go out.
Tired and empty, I know that the wandering heart has begun to call me on the road again, and my bags are still collecting all the yesterday.
Thinking of the seeds sown in April, the flowers that bloomed in June, outlined a warm silhouette, like a slightly hot wind blowing through the cheeks. It turned out that I was the same as Yu Xiang, in the forgotten Shan Shan, on the yellowed paper, and the fragrance was endless. Let love blossom and bear fruit again in another season, and watch time turn the wound into a harvest.
Never said never, never said goodbye, the deep pool under your eyebrows, but my self-righteous remembrance? I know that many things are going on silently at this moment, and sometimes I feel that such a moment does not need to be broken.
Accustomed to a pure and simple way, safely accepting the existence and direction of the four seasons, not like spring, not sad autumn, not afraid of heat, not afraid of cold, but can not ignore the state of mind that walks with the steps of the four seasons. I will not allow it to indulge in inextricable decadence, into empty fear and uneasiness, but to give it warmth, transparency, know how to be opposite to itself, meet the soul, be stable, calm.
How to carefully plant some refreshing aromas in the gap between the four seasons and grow your own piece of quiet beauty; how can you find a trace of warmth in a simple heart language, so that such words are rich and beautiful? Even if yesterday's face is old, tomorrow's face is unknown.
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