Chapter 278: Can't Wake Up (6)

My heart is still clinging to my own philosophy, because there is love in my heart, and I will not be lonely along the way. www.biquge.info After experiencing the ups and downs of life, tasting the blood in my heart, and experiencing the tremors of my heart, I realized that all fantasies can become tangible realities, and it turns out that it is only one step from heaven to hell!

From the time when love sprouts, it is not necessarily the rose that opens up in the end! I'm trying my best to get back what I'm remembering, and I'm trying to leave you behind, forget about you. Is it lonely or depressed, helpless or dazed? If there are no tears, is it a stubbornness to true love? Leave a little room for your soul to sigh by the railing, and let the tears quietly stain your shirt. Everyone loves the word "forever" so much, and hopes to use this word to write a poem with the person they love.

Love you, it has nothing to do with you, how to make the highly gloomy life close to the sunshine? Standing in his own story, the fragrance of acacia flowers in May, and the plum cold in the middle of winter; Under the axe and the knife, the stone emotion stood upright in the cycle of time in a persistent posture.

Walking in the bustling city, my lovesickness is still like water. I try my best to bundle my thoughts into the yellow flowers written by the lyricist Li Qingzhao, but how to divide love into equal parts? And how do you measure "forever" in numbers?

The dust of life, but from green silk to white hair.

Once a flower blooms, it should be fragrant for a lifetime.

I could see a leaf falling from the old locust tree, and I could see the clouds change into a white gauze dress. I can safely say the stop sign before I go out, and I can tell that the moss around me is decreasing day by day. But what can I say about love? Can I tell where it is, what its color, what its temperature? Can I tell its posture, its preferences, its smell?

Do I know when it will come? Do I know the direction in which it is leaving? I have a shelf of books that are constantly being replenished. These books tell me about people's lives many years ago and tell me what is more valuable than what. These books have been through many vicissitudes, and their authors seem to have experienced love, and these books are as if they had experienced love, and people are willing to listen. But what can I understand about love? What can we say about love? What can we record about love? From what age do we start to enjoy it, and when do we start to leave it? How long have we been deep into it, and how deep have we immersed in it? Staring into my eyes, do you have love? Is the scene in front of you important because of one person? Are you breathing deeply because someone is breathing too? Are you patiently listening because someone is listening? I can't walk into your world, I can only look outside your door, I can't give you my experience, I can only talk to you from afar, and say how I feel. We can't say anything about love. What can we say about love? Say it's like water, passing only through our fingers? Say it's like smoke, flying to the sea too. Flying to the mountains? Say it's like a drizzle, soaking us with perseverance? Say it's like a flood that breaks down our best line of defense? To say that it is stubborn, to ignore ethics, to ignore the crowd, to say that it is unreasonable, to tame only our last tenderness. If a person is close to you like air, say to you: you are the most important part of my life. If a person takes your wishes as their own, it is not autosuggestion, but can't help it. If a person pulls up your hair and stares at your eyes, whispering your name. If a person surrounds you like air surrounds you, you won't get dizzy.

What can we say about love? It is said to be far away, but it comes suddenly. said that it wanted to speak and stopped, but it was a mess in his heart. said that it was laissez-faire but held in the palm of its hand, unable to push open the fence around it, but it could open another heart door. Before being loved, we are unenlightened babies, after being loved, we are like an ancient jade that has been opened, about love, do we have the language that can be reached? When you are old, your head is white, your mind is drowsy, and you are napping by the fire, please take this poem and read it slowly, remembering the softness of your eyes in the past, and the heavy shadows of their past. How many people love your youthful and joyful hours, love your beauty, fake or sincere. There is only one person who loves the soul of your holy one, and loves the painful wrinkles of your aging face.

Lowering its head, beside the red-lit stove, it whispered sadly about the passing of love, and paced slowly in the mountains overhead. What did Yeats say about love? What can we understand about love? When it's time to be confused, what are you sober? When it's time to forget yourself, what do you miss? What do you refuse when you should have it? What do you miss when it's time to give up? What belongs to you, a leaf, is also a forest, not yours, ten thousand trees compete for spring, and it is also someone else's garden. If you have moonlight tonight, why do you want a sunny tomorrow? When you walk into love, you have no reason to age, the years have traces, and you only stay with others. Even if you love someone silently and can only look at each other across the river, you also have a seed buried in winter, who dares to say that it will not sprout in spring? I am willing to bear these helplessness, alone, looking at the wild geese in the distance, I am willing to have this heaviness, crossing the turbulent river alone. I'm willing to go around hill after hill just to patronize a hut, I'm willing to go to the end of no one, just to get in your sight. What can we say about love? We can't say anything about love, we can only set the dishes, light the candles, and comb each other's mud and sand in the soft music. We don't know its depth, and we don't know where it comes from. We don't know what busy people are preparing for tomorrow, we can only gather all the present, pull the stars down, and listen to the autumn insects sing.

About love, we are like unknown children, everything is enlightening, we don't know what dreams we will wake up in the future night. All we know is that we carry the key to another person, and it locks us in loneliness. In the new autumn, there is a big tree in the field, full of fruit during the day, and it tells the grass about its past, and its voice is full of nostalgia for another person. It says that love has given me great joy, great compassion, and has brought me to the peace I am today. The voice of the tree was old and young. What can we understand about love? I can tell the color of the sky, but I can't say the sound of the sea. I can see the subway and the platform, but I can't see the number of trains of love. I can walk my way in the crowd, but I can't shake your hand in the crowd. I am a stranger to you, and we pass by to meet the eyes that belong to us in front of us.

We have lost our virginity and we can't say anything about love. (To be continued.) )