It's late at night, listening to the sound of the wind beating on the night outside the window, like an inexplicable heartache in the gravel. The left is the memory, the right is the life, I always stand in the memory and look up at the time. The years are a touch of gaze hidden in the crook of the eyebrows. Every period of time is growing and elongating in bright eyes. Beautiful years, rich heritage.

Sitting quietly at the table, I brewed a cup of warm wolfberry red date rose tea, penetrating the warm taste. Look at the camellia in full bloom, watch it wither, petal by petal falling off, until the ground is red. At this moment, sitting in the middle of the night, my heart is happy, there is moonlight, there is music, I can quietly smear my ink fragrance on my fingertips. Time is fragrant, picking up the beauty of the way, life is simply happy and quiet.

As the days flowed by like water, I also learned to be quiet, to slow myself down, and to notice some of the scenery that I had neglected in the past. Suddenly, you will find that in fact, the years are forgiving, and you are not thin. I learned to live a trivial life with new ideas, and arrange my own heart in the quiet years.

Life is a wandering journey, and every place you walk through and everyone you meet will eventually become a post station and a passerby. I always like to reminisce, I like to look back, I like to be nostalgic. only found that the former post station can only be edited, not stopped, and the former passers-by can only be grateful, not demanding. The warmest way in the world is when I inadvertently think of it, I am here, and you are still there.

Like a passing year, counting the stories of time, shaking off a season of wordless past. The branches of the years have long been hung with the dark fragrance of grass and trees, the red dust is staggered and spreading, and the heart has been for a long time, only looking to pass through the dust, clear as ever. Taste the warmth of a cup of tea and the past, pile up some small words to be happy, silence into warmth, and simple words into poetry. Falling together is life. One day is the day. Life is like this, often when you look back on the past, you find that the years are ruthless, it flows away, it is lost, and sometimes it brings us just endless sadness.

Look down on the world, be quiet to the spring flowers and autumn moon, the hustle and bustle of the world, fame and fortune, let go of impetuousness, and be calm and at ease. Don't go against your heart, don't deliberately, don't care too much, let go of obsession, and follow fate is the best attitude of life. No matter how cold there will be in this world, there will still be different fireworks. As light as the breeze, he walked through with a smile. A touch of time, a touch of heart.

The taste of life is light for a long time, peaceful, and people are as light as chrysanthemums. Be a man and live lightly; A light day, every day exudes fragrance. Time passes, there is no beginning, there is no end, life is as simple as a passerby, washed away by a body of lead, floating like a dream. Pick up a wisp of tea, decorate the bleak cold in the middle of the night, and place the leisurely years on the simple heart, and bloom beautifully. When to wash away the lead, in a quiet place, hide your face alone, and be thoughtless.

Life is a gesture, an attitude towards life. If the wind blows and the cold rain hits, you can be at ease; Like a tree, the seasons change, still waiting; Thick and gentle. Live a plain and leisurely life, even if the time washes the gray hair, you can still sit and lie down for a long time, count the quiet, and smile aftertaste, which is the most expected light and elegant life. Time erases the sorrow, the years tell the sad past, pick up the scattered thoughts, and place the lonely melancholy.

Standing at the ferry of time, with a heart pen, full of the ink fragrance of the years, pick up a piece of memory and quietly forget it in the depths of time. is no longer an ignorant age, nor is it a dream season, the years of shuttle have written the past of displacement. For the rest of the time, I don't want to toss anymore, just quiet down and be myself. Take care of your life, read books, drink tea, leave time for yourself, the rest of your life is not long, and treating yourself well is the most important thing. All gains and losses, hidden and explicit, are nothing more than scenery and customs.

The beautiful and helpless years, clear and shallow over the heart, the days are quiet, faint, with sorrow and joy floating by, condensed into this page of pure words; Interpreted as this light solo dance, the heart, at this moment, exile, wandering, sedimentation, watching, time, so beautiful, in the quiet night, fade, eternal, looking back, the past becomes the wind.