It should be because of the rare rain last night, but today's air is exceptionally fresh, without the scorching sun, and the occasional breeze comes slowly.

When the sun was setting, Han Yi paced to the river, less than fifty meters away from the dormitory, and sat down against the willow tree. There weren't many people coming and going, and he could stay quiet for a long time.

The breeze mixed with the residual heat seemed to blow him drunk, and he was at ease. The breeze brushed his cheeks, propped his forehead, and slowly moved his gaze to the undeveloped clearing a little farther away, overgrown with weeds, but still green.

It wasn't until night fell, when the faint lights began to turn on, that he got up to leave. His heart was empty, and he realized that time passed very slowly.

He began to pay attention to the things around him that had been neglected before, roughly a building, as small as a grass. Many times he becomes sensitive, becomes sentimental. began to dance and write immature verses, and began to write lyrics and poems. I have also heard that "poetry is the crystallization of pain". There was no way to verify the truth of this sentence, but he didn't care at all.

Xi Xi Xiaofeng willow Xiao Xiao, a round of waning moon hanging on the treetops.

When there is no rain in the eyes of tears, there is only a distant line of thought.

The water is far away, and the two clusters of clouds are looking forward to the water.

What is the return date? How can you bear to pour out your sorrows with wine?

Although he picks up people's teeth and is extremely immature, he has sincere feelings, and he named it "Bitter Love".

Inexplicably, I began to like the moonlit night, and often opened the window on the moonlit night, looking at it from afar, as if I had another world.

The moonlight fell like water in the eyes. Even though it's so clear and close at hand, it feels like it's far away, out of reach.

I want to hug tightly to illuminate the emptiness that fills the gloom in my heart, but to no avail. is still the shadow of his loneliness, and then faces the reality with a smile, which is unknown. I like to make an appointment with the moon as scheduled, but it backfires, and only my own shadow is within reach.

The moonstone is so bright, yet so cold as frost. Enthusiasm and indifference collide, leaving behind perhaps a piece of two, a few wisps of silent night feelings, pale and weak, and even unable to withstand the breeze and drizzle. Haunting is a faint sorrow, a deep pain. He just thought of the person in his mind as the moon that could be seen in his head.

The people of today did not see the ancients, but this month once looked like the ancients. Moon, is it vicissitudes, or is it ancient? Follow the gentle shadow forward. The beauty of wishes, the cruelty of reality, hesitation, choice, where will you be?

The clouds follow the wind

The stars follow the moon

Shadows follow the cocoons and stand alone on the earth

I don't know who I hate

The wind is blowing and the clouds are fluttering

The moon bends and the stars shine

The wind blows the clouds and the moon stars are scarce

Peach blossoms are still people

All things in heaven and earth have changed

Time has passed, and emotions have changed

The hand in hand is no longer someone else

Looking up at the sky, the wind and clouds go to stay, and the stars and the moon race away

Hanging from each other

It's hard to love, but it's hard to give up

Bury your heart

Tonight, at this moment, he thinks of himself as a poet and can write such words. "Walk on both sides of life, sow at any time, and blossom at any time······ Stepping on thorns, I don't feel pain, I have tears to play, but I don't feel sadness. "I have the impression that this is what Bingxin said, and I don't remember it too clearly.

He wondered if the pain and desolation would be too much to bear if the road was too long and he would give up. As if he once wrote an essay, "No mountain can keep the promise of green forever; No river can flow with eternal youth; There is not a single cloud that can contain the loneliness of no wind or rain······"

Now think about it, don't make promises, don't say never, pick up at any time, put down at any time, is the best choice for yourself. The variables of life can only be explained by Mo Fei's law, the more you don't want it to happen, the more it will happen.

The evening breeze blows, stirring up thoughts, cutting constantly, and sorting is messy. There were a few faint wisps of sentimentality in the darkness, looking up at the eyes, touching the eyes, speechless and choking. Think about a few years ago, tirelessly, maintain a heart that never gives up, clearly know what you want for the future, there is a kind of "mountain to the top of the WO for the peak, the sea to the end of the sky as the shore" heroic.

Don't talk about dreams, quit. The will has been exhausted, and the heart has begun to go numb. What kind of pride and ambition is not in love, as if it has also got a plaque of "not happy with things, not sad with yourself". This is Han Yi's previous state, with nothing to do and no pursuit.

This night can only taste the taste of loneliness slowly.

Does loneliness smell like it?

He was immersed in this boundless reverie, almost innocent as a child.

In the dead of night, loneliness is like a pot of wine that has been hidden. When I was drinking with the moon and became three people, someone suddenly knocked on the door, and I opened the door to greet the guests, attended the banquet, and toasted the guests. After drinking, the guest asked me, "What kind of wine is this, and how does it look like tap water?" "It turns out that loneliness requires a person to savor it slowly and carefully.

When one thinks, is loneliness a process of intellectual and spiritual release?

Flowers have a flowering period, tides have tides, wind, frost, rain and snow, all seem to be interpreting their own loneliness. Shang Yang dances and knows the rain, Shi Yan flies and knows the wind, the chicken does not chirp in the morning, the bee does not pick the flower, and I, you do not think. The heart is like a double wire net, and there are thousands of knots in it. Millions of knots, woven into a lonely net, in this huge world to her complexes.

For loneliness, he doesn't like it so much or is willing to do so, the endless things, what he likes is the quiet sweetness, and what he is afraid of is the pain of devouring. He didn't know why he was so entangled, it was like the memories of Bai Xue and the past that made him make choices all the time.

He knew that solitude doesn't have to be bleak, it can also be a spiritual pleasure. But at this moment, what I feel is "life is only as first seen, how is it like an autumn wind sad painting fan." If you know the hearts of the old people, but the hearts of the old people are changeable. ”

Han Yi even felt that he was just moaning without illness, and he didn't deliberately embellish the loneliness of his self-awareness, but in the world he wrote, he was so lonely that there was only time left for this moment. Thinking that every time Zhong Ying'er said that she broke up and then came back to him, or left for half a year without saying anything and came back, the loneliness condensed into a sigh, and her nose was sour.

He can also be sure that the loneliness he feels now is not all of it, and he will taste all the loneliness in the future, thinking about whether such a long distance will be stable even if he falls in love with Bai Xue.

It's just that at each stage, what he feels will be different, and with the lessons of the past, he understands that the future is unpredictable, but he certainly doesn't feel all the pain of self-pity.

He thought he had been just practicing saying goodbye to her. A bitter and uncomfortable dialogue, and then left with tears, and then began to miss day and night, and began to learn to forget.

At the moment, this kind of soul attachment is nothing more than psychological comfort. Knowing that lovesickness is bitter, I want to be bitter lovesickness. obviously has a good love that can be trusted, but she pretends to be high, and she will only accept others again if she forgets it.

I know that missing is a boundless thing, suddenly as flexible and slender as silk, and suddenly as overwhelming as a storm. Acacia is so deep that even the willows have become sad trees, and the peaches and plums have become broken intestine flowers. He knew that what he was thinking about was not Zhong Ying'er, it was Bai Xue, at least at this moment.

In such a night, it can be his own world, in which he softly whispers and loses his voice, accompanied by loneliness. What can be seen and what is not seen have all converged into a torrent, rushing vigorously towards the so-called sea and rocks.

Let the flow of time wash away the old traces! Time will sober people and make it clear what he really wants.

It was late at night and the lights were on. It was eerily still, and only the tip of the pen could be heard scribbling on the yellow paper against the white light.

"The traffic outside is busy, gorgeous and colorful, to you, the loss of the night, give it to me, and I will also send my heart to others!"

Such a moment is loneliness, melancholy, and it is a deep exploration of his own heart, so that he can clearly understand how to make a choice.

Before going to bed, I also hypocritically said good night to myself.