Theme: Yesterday, haunting like a dream, unforgettable. Tomorrow, like a dream, I can't figure it out. Today is a continuation of yesterday and the beginning of tomorrow. Perhaps, time does not exist to make us old, but to make us grasp the present. Yesterday's dream has become empty, and tomorrow I don't know where to go. Perhaps, only today is real, or maybe it is just a dream, leaving us in a dream without knowing it.

(1) It's a pity that the crowd looked for her thousands of times, and suddenly looked back, but that person was not in the sea of people. Seeking, lost, lost, trapped in the middle. On the other side, the flowers bloom, but the years are gone. Infatuation, true love, and great love are also in vain. Today, tomorrow, time is remembered, once a story. Memory, memory, true love, or unintentional, all pass away with the wind, as if they are in another world. Persistently alone, clasping hands, holding the passing years, but not holding tomorrow. (I didn't see her yesterday, and quietly after that, it was the end of the world.) Where is the dream of a teenager? In vain, Furong only envies her family. )

(2) The deep cold outside the window locks the loneliness of this world. One person, two people, can't escape - the departure of fate. I miss the fragrance of pear blossoms, as if I saw a hundred flowers blooming, and it seems that I can see the cherry red in the courtyard, hear the sound of the swaying cicadas, admire the stars of the blue sea and blue sky, and occasionally pick up a piece of leaves with the past, will I miss it, and will I not be happy in my heart, remember that year, or gloomy, and shed tears to commemorate youth. It's a pity that these are all dreams of Luo Qi, and they will be scattered all over the world as soon as they blow. And those unchanging familiarities, year after year, day after day, eventually dissipate. (Qianqian whispered, Kun Kun was envious.) The past is gone, and Luo Meng is light. )

(3) The most tragic and impermanent, life is scattered. The precious, the passerby-like, all slipped between the fingers. Life is not long, there is no wish, only rushing, running around. The road, yesterday's road, today's road, tomorrow's road, are unconsciously stepped on with both feet, starting. Walking forward, yesterday's and familiar's are left behind. Perhaps, one day, when these things quietly disappear, we will lose the bottom of our hearts, but more of them will be downbeat and open. Perhaps, this is great. Perhaps, we have already cried in our hearts. (The most joyful boy can be prosperous, and the saddest life is impermanent.) Gather and disperse him towards self-deprecation, and grow after smiling. )

(4) The temples are white and slightly frosty, and in the blink of an eye, the children and grandchildren are full, from generation to generation. No one asked, and you didn't say anything, so you worked hard like this, spring and autumn. Yesterday, we were still here, he was still here, and you were too. In the blink of an eye, we are gone, he is gone, and you are alone. Life, your life, no one understands, live silently. Chasing fame and fortune, we indulge in, we send affection, we are happy to do this. Perhaps, or perhaps the truth, there is someone we take for granted and thus ignore, ignoring the moment we can give love. Perhaps, what is ignored is the most uncontrollable expectation, in short, we owe you an explanation: Mom. (The past has gone with the wind, and yesterday was as frivolous as possible.) I don't know whether it's ruthless or unintentional, and I miss my son at home. )

(5) Hello, friend. Goodbye, friend. Again and again, parting or seeing each other again, or the same scene, or a new partner. Perhaps, the true meaning of a friend is to make it grow. Thank you for the experience I have given me, thank you again, I have always been so thankful, in my memory or not, in my best memories. Perhaps, it is difficult for us to see each other who are running for life, or regrets, regrets of a lifetime, but I want to thank, thank you, thank you, thank you sincerely, thank you for criticism, and thank you for every moment. I think, I miss you. (The sky is bright and the moon is bright, and the earth is intoxicating.) Don't forget brotherhood, don't forget thousands of miles. )

The new, the old, the coming, the going, the gaining, or the loss, these are all memories of life. Perhaps, tribulations are a bodhi that motivates us to grow; Perhaps, losing is a bodhi, in order to teach us to cherish; Perhaps, failure is a bodhi, to witness our success. If life is like a dream, the heart will ache, tears will flow, and life will go on; If life is like a fruit, but yesterday's and tomorrow's can't hold it. Perhaps, life is not only a journey of a thousand miles, starting with a single step forward, but also life is like a dream, a bottle of water and the moon to look back. Perhaps, people still have to have dreams, otherwise too realistic will collapse. Or perhaps, how to live, how to live, just follow fate, just follow your heart. Because - dreams are not dreams.