In his youth, he hurried to work. I walked alone outside my youth, looking at the autumn rape flowers, and its death was decaying. The light autumn is destined to be a melancholy woman, and the sycamore rain that spreads the world is her tears, which can never be wiped dry.

Some people say that my words are always quiet with a faint sadness. My sorrow is not appreciated by many people. My sentimentality is also less misinterpreted as a diseaseless moan. But I want to say that it was just me, a real me, anyway. I only wish to be alone in a light autumn season, on the road covered with camphor, listening to the sadness of that season.

That charming and sad should not be the main theme of youth, and it can't sing that joyful song. The pain of that season should only belong to my world, but I used it to carry out the self-blackening of youth. There is no red beauty, green depression, and red simplicity, but only black sadness, gray depression, and brown pain. The Lord can't kill anyone, can't control anything, and in the end it will be killed and controlled by some people and things. Perhaps it was the rebellion against death, the hypocritical self-esteem, and the fatal sensitivity that made me go alone to the world of myself, quietly. A person, silently, listens, that season of sorrow: May day, blue and white scattered, June rain, Jialan a dream, July wind, small lotus thanks, August order, floating heart pain.

In that summer season, the rain flowers embroidered my sorrows, the wind in the trees teased my sorrows, the brocade under the starry sky brocade, and the long night diffused my sorrows. No one understands me, and no one expects anyone to understand me. It turns out that a person's world is just one person. If there are fewer people, that world does not belong to you, and if there are fewer people, you do not belong to that world.

began to find that the strength of the less merit will only put a lock on his heart and die. Too little cowardice will only cut your heart a thousand wounds and be ruthless. No one will be strong for you, no one will take you to fly, and no angels will save you. What you have is just a locked heart, and you don't beg for anyone's pity and sympathy, and what you have is just a thousand scars, and you don't want anyone to approach and soothe them.

I'm so stubborn, growing up is a stone that hurts. My youth was full of pain. In the hustle and bustle, I couldn't find a familiar strange dead person. In the vast sea of people, there are scattered heroes who are not heroes. This world, I said, shouldn't have belonged to me!

What is in love with each other, what is forgetting the rivers and lakes, and what is guarding the black head together, it is all empty of the peach blossom source Lin Yan. What true love promises, what love for 10,000 years, what love offerings, are all too illusory in heaven and earth. The only thing you can believe in is yourself, and the world is what you can forget.

Listen, that season was sad.

There is a single line of loneliness in his ears, and the tail ring on his finger is swaying chaotically, and he is returning to the officialdom with tears in front of him. Under the dim street lamp, he dragged his tired body heavily, staggering away like a sobering man, but his heart was intertwined with a sorrow, darkness, and the bright place was also dark, dark. It turns out that the taste of lack of heart is so painful, and my heart should be dead, this is a great sorrow!

I know that melancholy should only be a mood, but if there is less melancholy, I will be depressed. Some people say that depressed people are terrible, but I will never go to the point of no return, even if it is hurt and painful, hated and hoped.

I wasn't used to being alone, but loneliness chose me. I loved laughter, I loved to see the joy of the corner of the pear vortex, but I didn't want to draw into that elegant arc, and if I couldn't laugh against my heart, even if I did, I would be stupid and crazy. I'm used to talking to people, but now I'm just talking to myself, on the road, in bed, under the covers, anywhere, on any occasion, at any time.

Tears, what are they? I forgot. In the saddest moment, I don't shed a single tear. I don't want others to see me pretending to be strong, man, I shouldn't cry!

In the past, when I was sad, I liked to listen to sad love songs, but now I have no heart and no power to continue. It's just that when it's hard to work, I don't say a word, I don't pay attention to anyone, and when everyone sleeps in the middle of the night, I wrap myself in a single quilt, curl up and press my head against the wall, sniffing the smell of red paint, feeling the coldness of the wall, listening to the sweet notes of others, and occasionally the sad melody of the rain. Let the moonlight sink my face, and wake up in the heart of my dreams. It turns out that the night is the best destination for the lonely, and only then will the loneliness of the mind and body be perfectly integrated, very pleasantly!

My youth, sorrow walks together.

Loneliness is the carnival of one person, and carnival is the loneliness of a group of people. My loneliness, not an.

Prosperous Jincheng, but I am lonely, looking through the flowers in the dawn city, the fireworks are cold.

I don't want to go back to that false world, I want to be in that sad world that belongs to me alone. Only outside of me will I pretend to be strong and release all the unhappiness to my heart's content.

No one really understands me, and no one will accompany me through the sadness of that season. Just let me be alone, in addition to the decline of the main stream, lonely and work. Outside that world, waiting, waiting, is not love, nor friendship......

And I just want everyone to be happy, after all, sorrow is not supposed to belong in your world. I don't want anyone to think of me and care about me, because I have been responsible for the world.

Ask what the love in the world is, and Qu teaches people to die and promise each other a complete collection of romance novels. Heavy lovers will be confused, not heavy love is shallow, and those who can answer are already empty. Rolling red dust, between the mundane, in the desire for external affairs, there is no self and self.

There are three thousand weak water, and I only want to take a scoop to drink.

My lost youth,

To you:

Precious!

Forever!

I wandered there,

Outside of youth,

Alone, alone,

Listen, that season was sad......