The smoke and rain are misty, the thoughts are the same, and the bitterness is longing, who can know, who can feel...... Dust a memory, cherish an understanding, and the heart is still ......

Quiet time, those plain words written to the night sky, riding the bright moon, anchored in the time and space of thoughts. The dialogue of the cold and warm time is far-reaching, and the spring has nowhere to be stranded. Thousands of thoughts pass through the fragrance of the four seasons, the drift of clouds and water, and finally, with the time, and the spring and autumn drink.

The bleakness of ink paved the dust, and the unscrupulous spring blew off the feelings of the old days. A person is silently sad, reliving those shallow pasts, passing years, and reminiscing about sorrow on plain pen and paper.

The weeping words can't calm the traces of the old days in my heart, the windows of memories are full of yellowed letters, the tip of the pen gushes down deep tears, and the pain of memory makes my heart grow. Hide all the painful sorrows and sorrowful thoughts in the melancholy melancholy memories, and let the wandering heart ache alone. There is nowhere to put the thoughts of the mountains and rivers, and I can't forget the scars of the years, but I can still awaken the sorrow of my words. Those old pasts, burning the heart in the middle of the night. Memory, cheeks are slightly cold, tears complain of sadness......

The worldliness of desire binds the shackles of the original intention, and when the heart is scarred, I find that the original simplicity is the confusion of the hustle and bustle, and the stubbornness of falling down and getting up.

Take a trip to the wind and clouds, and look at the wind and dust; Hold a handful of water and moon in your hand, and your heart is like stopping water; The fragrance of the flowers of the years is full of clothes, and time passes; Twist a touch of glazed plain heart, and watch the most beautiful sunset and sunset. A period of past, a wisp of fragrance, shallow years, there will always be a meter of sunshine to warm a season of fashion. The ups and downs of life, quiet and calm, the turbulent years are not shocked, pick up the elegance of time, cut a period of calm like water to seal the memory, the years of leaving traces, is a person's life.

The days are the fragments of the heavy superposition of time, and the dullness of life is the accumulation of simple bits and pieces. The agility of a flower and a grass, the comfort of the blue sky and white clouds, the purity in the hustle and bustle, the complexity in the simple, and the poetry of the fragrance of flowers in every ordinary day.

Standing on the bank of the extension of time, the river of time is still tactful and melodious. In the memory of memory, piecing together the pictures of the past, the afterglow of the sunset, the Yingying in the moonlight, there are always some sour past, unbearable to look back, and there are also some sweet memories, drunk and unconscious. The disturbances of the world, hazy, and mottled traces of the passing years, are constantly wandering on the way home.

The prosperity of the past has quietly withdrawn from the stage, those old stories are like spilled crumbs after a broken cup, unable to be put together into a complete paragraph, and those soft memories affect our lives to a greater or lesser extent.

The Mo Shang of life is like a blooming flower, embracing itself with posture and color, and it is like a poem. The meaning is rich in splendid years. Regardless of spring, summer, autumn and winter, joy and sorrow, chanting a miserable life in their own style. However, life is simple, pure, beautiful, clear, and smiling.

The passing scenes, the people who rub shoulders, and the scattered feelings have long been the joys and sorrows of their own stories in the wind, which are only suitable for him to forget or treasure in his years, without the need to think about it. Keep the luster and tone of daily peace, open the curtain of light smoke and rain, and use the warmth and coldness of the years to suffer. If the heart is plain, quiet and enlightened, learn to sprinkle the soft heart in the wind in the twists and turns, and the dense years.

The years have engraved the vicissitudes and longevity, and the annual rings have taken away youth and vitality. The prosperity of the dream life turned into nothing, and the years were sighed, which was nothing more than a general reminiscence, and the joys and sorrows of the past were already grass and warblers. A ray of sunshine, listening to the wind and watching the rain in the boundless sky. Let time pass slowly, go through those fragmented days, some years, some time, after all, belong to yesterday, erase the sorrow, those trivialities that have been polished by time, have settled. Those overlapping pieces can no longer be woven into a beautiful scene. The vicissitudes of time have passed, and how much confusion has filled the bottom of my heart.

The years wrapped around the fingers, affectionately chanted. Some feelings, accompanied by a light breeze, pass slowly, without a trace. On the red paper of time, there are beautiful memories, and those attachments are still fragrant.

The silent years are like light smoke and sorrow, and the memories that want to be scattered and gathered are rippling and jumping. There is no need to be too melancholy, and there is no need to be too nostalgic, no matter how you reminisce, it is just a memory in your memory.