Time is silent, and the past is completed
Author 丨 青思绾 Source 丨安般蘭若
Edit: Ichimon Fangfei
"Wet apricot blossom rain, blowing noodles do not chill willow wind."
A spring rain, with a spring breeze, opened the curtain on April.
The wind contains emotion, and the rain smiles. The slightly cold spring breeze, accompanied by a slight drizzle, gently falls on the apricot blossom branches.
After the rainy night, take a closer look, there are a few more drops of pink and white tears under the tree. Whether it is attachment or reluctance, the final destination is zero and muddy.
Sometimes, if the blossom is the hope that the blossom is blooming, then the flower is accumulating strength for the next bloom.
In late spring. Green willows blow the embankment, the branches are cold and green, and the silky willows are like green ribbons, rising with the wind and falling with the wind.
Spring water is born, ripples and ripples, reflecting the vitality. At the gaze, the mountains are stacked, the blue waves are rippling, and the layers of forests are dyed.
Fold a thin willow and say goodbye to the past. Carry a pot of old wine, under the peach blossom tree, with dark fragrant sleeves.
In April, it is the end of spring, and we have unconsciously walked through one of the three places in a year, as if our lives have also passed exactly one-third.
Over the years, the breeze is full of breeze, and unconsciously, it has already taken away the youth full of childishness.
And now, those shallow and smiling years, the moments of playfulness, the years of ignorance, in the most beautiful April day, quietly walked through, one by one.
By the time it was realized, it was already gone, leaving only a wisp of dark incense, which had been quietly stolen by the years and silently collected. In the next reincarnation, only for the spring breeze to rise again, and the human world is the appearance of flowers again.
Time, she was always silent.
Those who miss it, a journey full of regrets, do not have to reminisce and miss it.
Life is a long road, can not force all the way together, wind and rain in the same boat, can not force the sky to be long, can meet, it is already my three lives are lucky.
Those yellowed poems, there is no need to linger. And the memories will be drunk, the past does not need to be mentioned again, after a hangover, or hidden in the heart, or thrown behind the head, reconciled with the past, let go of themselves.
Whose memory has not had three or two nameless little flowers blooming and Tingting? It's just that flowers blossom and fall at the end, and sometimes the fate of the gathering is scattered by people.
No matter how deep the love, it is impossible to go back after all, and in the poetic spring light, the season of purple and red will also be covered with a faint layer of sadness because of the drizzle.
The journey of life, some people, some things, is just to teach us to grow, let us know self-esteem, self-love and self-confidence, wave our sleeves, say goodbye to yesterday, a new journey, remember the teachings, and forge ahead.
Sometimes not getting it is another kind of relief, and regret is also another kind of fulfillment.
Understand that not every seed can grow into a towering tree, and not every flower can bear fruit.
In the face of regret, we must know how to look down on gains and losses, don't work too hard, go with the flow, everyone should learn to cherish in the loss, and learn to be calm in regret. To get is lucky, not to get is the norm in life.
No scrambling, no rushing. Gain calmly, lose indifferently.
Let go of the obsession in your heart, gather when you come, disperse when you go, and don't have to ask whether it is fate or robbery.
Prosperity is over, the world is desolate, and all the dust is the clouds of the past, like a dream and an illusion.
In the end, love also becomes empty, love also becomes empty, only a wisp of dark incense hidden in the old dream, let everything go with the wind, all with the wind...
Long road of life, and walk and cherish. Laugh and watch the flowers blossom and fall, and listen to the clouds. Let time be silent, the past zero into a flower, all the way to the incense.