Tidying up her daughter's room, the deepest crevice of the bookcase, I found that there was a lot of sandalwood, a flower-like age, who actually liked these things outside the world.
So like my daughter, I picked up a book, lit a pillar of incense, and the light smoke of the silk, carrying the wooden agarwood, spread leisurely, instantly felt that the mood blossomed, and time fell. It was as if I had seen again what I had looked like and dreamed, and I had also seen the stars and the mountain wind.
Or, there is really no better choice, so I forgot the dust against my heart and hid a light. Fortunately, I have been reconciling with myself, even if I have thoughts in my heart and climbed around, I have avoided the prosperity of the world and looked at the sky.
I have said it countless times, so that I can leave myself in a dream when the sunset and the moon rise. So I racked my brains and listed a bunch of reasons, for the sake of the body, I had to give up my hobbies; in order to continue my life, I had to change my habits; in order to maintain normality, I had to pretend to be normal.
It's not that I haven't tried to do it, but I'm weak and I can't always do it to remove the roots for the time being. So a hint of wind rose, and the heart flourished again, so he compromised. Lifting the pen again, tentatively moving forward little by little, ink and heart words, meeting and carrying, until they lost their armor again and went into hiding again. Cycle after cycle, lifelong solution.
It seems like it's all an excuse. In fact, in the end, it is still the fulfillment of loneliness, my own loneliness, and so is the text. Lonely words need to be expressed truthfully, and the lonely self also hopes to be able to navigate between the real and the illusory.
So in the middle of the night, such an uncontrollable self, write a few words to maintain the inherent spirituality, do not want to be affected by external factors, and forcibly painted with chaotic colors, like a chameleon.
If you can, can you act willfully again, push the door to meet, and spend heavy jincheng.
If you can, can you clear everything and refill a person's thousand rivers and mountains?
If, what a wonderful assumption, just a twilight of years, a mountain of tasks, but I don't have so many ifs, and even the opportunity to sigh is a luxury.
Once the sea was shipwrecked as water, except for the Wushan Mountain is not a cloud. This year, this way, I waddled forward, not abandoning the years and affection, white green silk, red eyes. Behind it, there is a wayward flow of years, gradually drifting away.