Time is endless, and the small words full of sorrow have nowhere to be placed in the corners of the season. Time weaves rain, memories stranded past; Today is a continuation of yesterday, and tomorrow is the hope of today. July, which gradually went away, took away too much nostalgia and reluctance.

A plain year is full of heartfelt words, full of personality is not publicized, soft and light sorrow, how much do you know about the past, Qianmo Hongchen, who will appease the smoke and sorrow in my heart?

The nostalgia left by time was depressed for a dream, only on the other side of the water, drinking a light of thought with the night breeze. Broken chapters, such as petals floating away, are old, and can only be the bottom of the heart.

A ray of sunshine, a little sorrow. An old song, a few curtains of dreams. The geese have also passed, and their hearts are sad. Those clouds of the past that slipped down only left the memories of the dreamers, and the loss and melancholy outlined the sorrow buried in the depths of the heart.

In July, there are no flowers, no dreams, only looking for some warm bits and pieces in the morning and evening. Like the wind, gently brushing the cheeks; Like clouds, it gives people yearning. Sitting quietly at the end of July, watching the clouds roll up, whispering with time, let the text record the mood at this time, and the beautiful mountains and rivers in those times, such as the heavenly maiden scattering flowers between the lines. I hope that this warmth, like the wisteria flowers in July, will live up to the years.

Busy life, holding Qinghuan in hand, indifferent to the heart, dancing with the wind, watching the green plants swaying; Contemplation with flowers and plants, and gaze at mountains and rivers. Turn thousands of feelings into a little star language, and dot the moonlight in the night sky.

The years are shallow, and the time is rippling. Spread out the plain paper of memory, open the outline of time and space, pick up the bits and pieces of spring and autumn moon, and warm the passing years of your fingertips.

The years have run over the rhyme of Tang poems and Song lyrics over and over again, and it is not just the expectation that hurts. July's affection, July's melancholy, July's helplessness, July's ...... Can you be a scavenger for years, don't think about the way you came from, don't go anywhere, pick up the spring light, and the autumn water will grow together. Let a plain heart in the years without increasing or decreasing, every day is clear and clear.

Standing in the light of July, reminiscing about the time that has been chewed and flowed away, vaguely, as if I heard something, is it an echo, or a call? Following the veins of the heart, the dust that slowly stops, the traces left by those times, such as plants in midsummer, have lost their vitality.

The once lush branches and foliage have also disappeared with time, and no matter whose story has become a thing of the past in time. Lyric a word, splash a rhyme of ink, turn the heart into a trickle of water, through the end of July in the text.

The days that passed in a hurry, every day was a new starting point, and the dense hearts were ignited by the scorching heat outside the window, and fell to pieces. Some fate, after all, was swept away by the hourglass called time, and gradually entered the page of memories to be sealed. No matter how time changes, there is always someone who will never leave your side, and who can say that this is not the happiest happiness?

Memories, memories that can't be returned. If you can turn a page in the past, you can't turn it, and you may be blinded when you turn the dust. Whether the past is wonderful or ordinary, laughter or tears are sealed together and kept as eternal memories!

Sitting on a season of plain white, gently tracing on the plain paper of the years. I have always believed that I am living in a proper time, shining with my ears and planting fireworks with my mind. In this world, there are many whispers that are intertwined and overlapped and mottled on the Qianmo. Only you can verify that you have gone through those joys and setbacks.

Thoughts like wild grass, growth, decline, after a long years of slaughtering, have long been separated from the dark river of memory, such as the refreshing coolness of pushing the window and encountering, with the slight warmth of the lips, turning flowers into ink, drawing with a pen, in the lonely world, writing down the stability of the passing years.

The sky in July, more scorching, sitting in a corner lightly, feeling the heat wave around the shoulders, looking at the white clouds leisurely, fresh and gentle, like this faint feeling, not deliberately, not tired, calm as you like.

The pace of the years has passed in a hurry, it is the end of July, and the annual rings of the year have written the prosperity and loneliness on the road of life, and many times people are caught off guard. Year after year, the long time in the middle is easily skipped by, as if I have never walked in it, bathed in the sweetness of the rain and dew of July, both cool and hot.

Walking at the end of July, I heard time knocking on the door of August, even though I was reluctant to give up on July, but I was still willing to walk into August as promised with beautiful steps. Because I know that on the road in August, the scenery is still beautiful.

In July, I walked by gently, taking away too much nostalgia and reluctance......