Wander through a poem and cultivate emotions.
The endless days boiled the tea soup, cooled the heart, and walked faintly into the end of the poem, and when I tasted it, I found that March had silently packed her bags and was ready to leave.
Just waiting for a bunch of moonlight, the midnight bell ringing silently, and in the memory, there is another March.
Goodbye, March, joy and sorrow into the dream, do not have to worry about it later. The attic in the sky was filled with moonlight, and it was given to a party as a farewell.
Life, occupied by trivial matters, occasionally a cup of rough tea and a book, is already the best time.
The sun is to the left or right, the flower shadow is to the right or to the left, the days are changing, and they are similar, three meals are vegetarian, obsessively chewing...
The returning swallows, the blooming flowers, are someone else's story. The scenery here is understated, and I don't know when the small city can go to the brilliant!
Bad news never avoids suspicion, full of screens, invading eyebrows, falling into the heart, a touch of sadness, will be full of March.
The commonplace scenery reduces people's empathy, may be tired, so choose to watch.
Who is tucked in the depths of the flowers, blowing off the fragrance of the sleeves? Who stands by the snow, thinking of a world that doesn't belong to them?
The distant place of longing has turned yellow, and in March, your beauty carries a little human death.
In the current time, the mood is like tea soup, slightly bitter, and it is a good attachment to the years. Whatever, what, right and wrong, the floating world is shaking.
Now, in March, the shadow stretched by the setting sun passes by the window, and suddenly looks back, and then disappears again.
Red dust galloped away several chapters of life, even if it was not willing, but time never stopped.
Countdown to spring, the flowers are approaching, the freedom is still far away, sit quietly in front of the window, casually enjoy the sunset, watch the thick tea fragrance drifting, scattered into the flow of years, dried by the burning sunset.
A plain heart, a faint compassion, even if it has passed the cold winter, it has not seen a bright spring, this March, doomed to be difficult to understand.
Looking at the flowers outside the city, waiting for the green steps to pick up incense, the petals are full of baskets, and when Fang Fei is at the end, twist the memories, the beauty of spring in the veins.
Before the end of March, sit at the table and flip through the old things, scrawled handwriting, recording the mood of a variety of tastes.
It turns out that not every day is very good, but there are some pains, and I choose to let go and forget.
The so-called happiness is not the luck of being able to escape the wind, frost, snow and rain, but the calmness of the face, the bravery of the experience, and the blandness of the mention after the thousand sails have passed.
In March, the small northern city has no chance to burn the flowers, fortunately, although March is over, but the spring is not yet central, and let nature take its course, everything is the best arrangement.
The prologue of April is the germination of spring buds, and every day we have to go to the garden pavilion of revival and watch the branches change.
Will also be in front of the small window, to the soaring tea to make a wish, I believe that the future can be expected, the fragrance of flowers will arrive, and soon, the spring wind will sweep away the haze, but also come to a bustling human world.
For many places, the blossoming of the March city is a lie, and staring at those lies seems a little pitiful, that is the expectation of the flowers.
Can't help but be disappointed, for March. Disappointed by the emptiness of the branches of the long streets and alleys, and the fear of not being able to go to the far away to find flowers.
The lights of the city cover up the loneliness of the night. The "ticking" of time is getting louder and louder, always reminding the passage of March.
Well, goodbye March. Tomorrow, April will continue the story of time.