How can I tell you that I used to write about it?

After completing a swan song, the literati and artists would probably sign a monogram on the back of the manuscript. It seems to be a word but not a word, and it seems to be a name but not a name, and there are a little more complicated twists and turns. There is no simplicity of cursive script, nor the squareness of regular script, but it is impossible to imitate the edge of the pen that is unwilling to be bland, and the spirit of the singer jumps on the paper.

So say it, those are the ones I used to live really. I used to be sad and frivolous, stubbornly breaking through the roadside fence and running into the rough field. Finally, my footprints are still connected into a circle, and finally I am still like a flying fallen leaf and finally calm in the dust, but looking back, the detours of youth are outlined into tortuous and complicated textures, like the poetic eye of life, engraved on the soul of an eternal monogram.

—————— [Who is the butterfly who has not woken up from a dream]

Growing up is the process of reality washing away dreams from our hearts, just like flowing water brushing away the primitive imprint of nature from our bodies.

—————— sorry for the loss of this paragraph——————

—————— [Go to Cheng Meng and sorrow from Ren Ping's trace]

I thought I was standing here, clutching the passing years in a panic; I'm no longer here, I can't find my feet, I can't find myself.

I want to see and hear. I give my eyes and my heart, and I see, I see that the siege is heavy and heavy, and it is unattainable, and I see that yesterday is fading away, and the old day is like the day. I give my ears a heart, I hear, I hear the wind is shaking, the song is already coming, I hear the hustle and bustle on the other side, the crowd of people. I give the pen a heart, I write, outline the city, separate the world, write the words, tears wet.

It is still a kind of panic that slowly worries at the heart, filling the emptiness; It's still an inescapable ending, detective, how can I hold myself?

I only forgot to give my heart to my feet. Just silently entrust the fallen leaves to the west wind and drift in the sky. I stopped, and the lights were dim everywhere I looked; I was flying, and I heard birds hovering over the treetops with folded wings; I looked, the black clouds on the horizon pressed the city, and the narrow road was on the line; I listened, the wind on the shore sang and drummed, and the maple beetles were remnant.

The wandering steps eventually brought me back here. I used to be sad, sad for today's loneliness, today's pain; Therefore, I can't bear it, I can't bear the indifference of tomorrow and the cold of tomorrow. I miss and want to dream back to the distant home where I have placed my dreams; I dreamed back, and I wanted to miss the dream of home that was far away. I have grown to love sorrow, and I will no longer be sorrowful when I am sorrowful; I gradually become nostalgic and unbearable, and if I can't bear it, I will no longer be unbearable. Silently told myself that I still want to miss, miss the sentimentality of the first sand and Kunlun, miss the moving appearance of the world that once had a flower, and make a final tribute to the wandering and tortuous youth.

—————— [But try to dream of a song from the beginning]

The leaves of the trees that swayed until winter still fell to the ground in the wind and snow, marking the traces of butterflies in the pale sky. Holding it up, it trembled slightly, did the palm of the hand provoke rest? The warmth of melting is like crying, the frost is dry and the cold rain is dry, will the tears be dry and lonely?

On the earth, the withered glory is still there, and the fallen leaves have been settled. When it gradually calms into the dust, when it slowly fades back to its roots, who knows how it once danced in the sky. A particle that fuses into a collective, all the marks on the body, the rain and snow, the wind and the knife that tore the inscription, have been forgotten by the years. I don't know.

I don't know if it's simpler or more complicated.

The heart struggles through the detours of youth, I no longer look back, no longer wait, only know how to move forward. Even though I still write in a trance that there is a hometown in that far away place, although I am caught up in the melancholy of the past when I live in a corner of stealing. Hiding from the pain in the depths of my memory, I no longer feel homesick or missed, because when I was homesick, I realized that I didn't even have any nostalgia for home, because when I missed it, I realized that I had forgotten my thoughts for a long, long time. I want to sketch the appearance of the passing years in my heart, but the memory is not clueless. I don't know.

I don't know if it's happier or sadder.

I also found new joys, and I understood new ideals, which seemed to be no different from the past in my memory. What's more, the road ahead is too long and too long, and the end of the road is so far away, so far away that it can be simply forgotten. I came over, and I seemed to be a little stronger, and I seemed to have gained a little strength, and I didn't regret it, but I didn't look back. I vaguely remember that my heart was wandering outside the journey, and I remembered that what I had kept had never stopped fleeing.

——2013.11

——

This one was supposed to be the final chapter of this series, but after thinking about it, I put it at the beginning.

The leaves have fallen - what does it mean?

Ah, probably, succumbed to life.

Don't care about what I've lost. Don't care about what I ever had.

Not anymore—ah, and then I was writing again.

However, at this time, I began to call it Fallen Leaves.

I began to accept my fate, and I accepted the fate of the fallen leaves that would eventually be silent in the dirt. Confessed.

However, I still have to fly in the air before I land. Even if no one sees me bloom. Even if no one remembers my tracks.

I'm at ease here.

I, Yu Feng, Enron.

Therefore, the fallen leaves have been settled.