So, in confusion, Xia Shiliu picked up the pen and continued to write: A piece of dry branches, a fragrant tea, an ancient book, and a good chess hand. Who drinks into lovesickness, recalls the moment of looking back, who allows me to be flashy for half a lifetime?

Maybe not to disturb is the best love for you. The best thing in the world is something I can't get, but I never get it and lose it again.

If you don't have it, you don't have the right to be sad. If you haven't had it, how can you talk about it forever? Don't believe in the so-called forever, when the vow is spoken, it will never be forever. You and I can't afford to wait for too long in the next life, just seize the day and only seek this life. Even if you and I meet again in the next life, it is better not to know each other once.

When you really care about someone, you won't give up easily, saying that you don't care is just hiding people's eyes. Sometimes, feelings are a delicate thing. It doesn't matter if it's worth it or not, it's just like it or not.

Sometimes giving up isn't like I'm throwing in the towel to life, it's just suddenly understanding. It's not that I don't care about you, it's just because I love you too much that I will leave you and let you fly freely.

If you can't forget it, let it slowly dissipate in the long river of memory. You are unique in my heart and have never been replaced, but there are too many words that I don't know where to start, so I have to pretend to forget you and forget the ending.

It may be fate to fall in love with you, you are my calamity, I can't avoid it, I can't choose. When you choose to give up, you lose the opportunity to have it again.

Maybe I didn't meet the right person at the right time, otherwise how could I lose you? I once wanted to be your guardian angel and watch over you silently. Looking at your smile, watching your every move, watching your back drifting away, leaving one alone to remember.

The person you miss the most is you, and the person you least want to bother is also you. Don't step forward, just watch you quietly within five steps, guarding you in corners you don't know. The bright moon illuminates the window, and you decorate my dreams.

Whose obsession overturned a song of Shaohua, whose wedding dress burned the end of the world, whose eyebrows amazed the prosperity of the world, and whose smile warmed the years like a song?

If life is only as it first sees, it is only ordinary at that time. Meeting the right person at the right time and in the right place drains all our luck.

Cut out the silhouette of time, leave a little heart mark in it, and the book is ruthless over the years; After watching the flowers bloom and fall, I looked down on the decline of the leaves, and wrote a paper of faint annual rings.

As the days passed, the finger marks left by that year gradually faded, became lighter, and became no longer understood.

Walking through the path of that time step by step, now there is only a little bit of hatred and erasing thoughts, only the soul that was washed away by time at that time, retreating between life and death of a leaf, and realizing the truth of life.

In the life of the flowers, I realize that all kinds of things in the world will eventually become empty.

It's hard to forget the years of writing, but there were you at that time, and there were bits and pieces of beauty in time. I used to read at night under the light, and my heart and mind were like spirits.

But many of them flowed away slowly, like water, as if they had never had such a period of time, so pale that they could not find the slightest imprint.

Maybe it's because I'm in a hurry, and I'm too far away when I look back. Maybe I walked too casually at the time, so I didn't notice the scenery around me. Maybe he accidentally lowered his head at that time, and only saw the footsteps hurrying by.

There are also people walking in a hurry, or maybe they accidentally lost their memories in a corner, and they just can't when they want to look back.

Maybe I still sigh that what is hidden the deepest is the most beautiful memory.

Maybe, there are a lot of maybes.

But there is only one reality missing.

But that reality, in those years, was deeply buried and never lost.

It feels like you're just looking back, and you've quietly gone away, am I too careless, or are you really so fast.

Looking back at the years, it is always memory, and looking forward to the future, it is imagination.

A long time ago, I have begun to imagine the future scene, imagine the quiet and beautiful, imagine the happiness and interesting things, imagine the fishing by the stream, drink tea at sunset, imagine an old book and an old person, raise a glass and talk at night, and tell the bitterness and bitterness of my life.

Estimating how many fantasies have not been realized, and how many years there are still to be to carry out. It's always imagination, it's empty talk, it's a cup of honey tea in the years, sweet and beautiful, it's a cup of tea in time, bitter and fragrant, it's a glass of wine, mellow and intoxicating.

Finally, a glass of water from the years, faintly clear.

And handed, the gap between the fingers, bringing a slight light at the other end, how many days have been placed in it, and how it has been allowed to pass slowly, inadvertently, with the wind.

The sand that can't be held is better to raise him, any touch of wind and sand dances, blurring a scene, walking through it, and there are still some remnants on the body.

Time knows the taste, time knows the heart, and after a period of time, who is still sticking to the original agreement, playing the pipa in the empty room, and singing a tactful song.

Who is holding a dry pen, dipped in ink full of feelings, and writing the feeling of a paper heart.

Who is it, confiding in the passing years, chatting about poetry with white hair, and then with a smile on the corner of his mouth.

Thinking about everything he used to be, like a song, like a painting.

In the heart, not in the heart.

In the past, but even more in the present.

In the memory, it is also in the constant forgetting and constant filtering.

The light sound is pleasant, the breeze is affectionate, a leaf, a leaf butterfly, when is it a gift, it is a feast of life, it is a period of harmony and beauty, it is the prelude to a song, it is an end and a beginning.

Is it time that lightens whose thoughts, or whose memories is that time is heavy? Is it the memory of whose back is bent, or is the memory inspiring and adding a touch of passion?

Therefore, the softness continues, and the sorrowful do not forget.

Therefore, it is given by time and time will be lost, and the short distance between the boundless future and the endless past, the laughter and pain that there has been no longer matter.

Whereas, reality gently folds the past and the future in half, the younger of us have a shorter past and a longer future, and the older ones have a longer past and a shorter future. There is a way, it's just a journey together, so why make the memories longer and heavier than the experience?

I just feel that memories can be light or heavy, just as time can be long or short, all in a single thought.

The years can be looked back from time to time, and the feelings for the rest of my life are in my heart. Maybe time will dilute those unforgettable, maybe time will increase those vows, will make a heart dignified will also make some indifferent, just stay in the heart, look back lightly, gently recall, forget what should be forgotten, and those who can't forget, don't have to force, don't have to worry.