Looking back in winter, the past is like smoke
The winter night is still moving forward in the cold, too lonely and lonely, the lonely sleepless time in the memory, more and more long, the night blocked the light of the dawn, the window is also shrouded in darkness, the cold wind whistling outside the window, from time to time knocking, reminding yourself that it is still early in the morning. Full of thoughts flooded in the heart, a thin chill spread in the bottom of the heart, and those past that had passed began to spread, which made people feel sad.
The cycle of the four seasons has come to an end, as if the golden scenery of the autumn leaves falling on the ground yesterday is still in front of you, and the winter snow has fallen on the boundless earth, covering all the desolation, leaving only a string of seasonal footprints, nostalgic for the fragrance of the cold plum proud snow. Silent night, listen carefully, it is the footsteps of time rushing by.
Winter, strolling at the end of the four seasons, the end of the year, it crosses the present and the future, flowing between autumn and spring. Cold wind, desolate, there is a penetrating cold. The bone-chilling warmth engulfed all the scenery, and pedestrians, couples, and dead leaves of the branches were all trying to resist the cold with their thin bodies. Alone supported, until the light of dawn, shining on the earth, warm red dust.
We walked on the road, accustomed to seeing the wind and snow, until middle age, we understood that we should strive to warm ourselves, face the cold wind, bathe in the snow, we from the young age of the unaccustomed to all kinds of things, to today's numbness. Looking back at the road, we found that we forgot the way home, lost the road ahead, and forgotten all the temperatures.
Shuttling through the vast red dust, like a passer-by of time, time is like the gravel of the palm, the more you care about it, the less it passes, and the faster it passes. But the thoughts of the heart, over time, more and more, until one day, bursting our heavy bags.
Looking back at yesterday, the flower buds that bloomed on the branches recorded the vicissitudes of the past, and the traces of the shallow days were the background color of the years and filled with desolation.
In the past hundred years of life, those times that have passed, whether joyful or sad, should be precipitated in the sea of time, with a willing attitude, like a flower quietly blooming, leaving only beauty, not mixed with any hurt and sorrow.
And the joys and sorrows of the past, love and hate, are all illuminated by the warm winter sun and become ordinary. Those fading figures slowly became blurred with the passage of time.
Every time I wake up from a dream, the acacia hidden in the depths of memory always pushes open the door of the dusty past, flooding the heart, and the vicissitudes of sleepless time.
I stood at the ferry where we met, singing unknown songs, there are you, there is me. A soft chant, a long dance, gentle companionship, beautiful accompaniment, but after waking up, it left a sigh in vain, startling a pillow of loneliness.
The night was still dark. The winter night has an indescribable desolation, always in the dark silence, all the thoughts read, can not be finished, can not forget, the rest can only be spent in regret.
Year after year, we begin to learn to be silent, and through the years we know that simplicity is true and the ordinary is true. The journey of life, we bid farewell again and again, and then set off without hesitation, we returned with tears again and again, in the ocean of memory, to regain the warmth of the world.
At the end of the year, the howling cold wind blows through the cold and summer, and the dead leaves that remain on the branches leave traces of the past, they have gone through spring and summer, through autumn and winter, through the wind of the season, swaying the traces of time.
Time stretches in the middle of the night, step by step, how many thoughts turn into the moonlight of winter nights, the cold sprinkles, are you under the moon, receiving that wisp of love moonlight?
How much I want to be with you, light a red clay stove, make a cup of light tea, that wisp of green smoke, are you lighting it for me?
Fill in a pillar of incense, drink a piece of the past, in the silent night, looking back, let the years be cold, life is bumpy, I use affectionate thoughts, in this cold night, once again set off, waiting for the dawn!
With ordinary words, depicting the most sincere emotions in the heart, I am drifting away with the wind, I am waiting for you here, not to see or to disperse. If you can be pleased, you can follow and leave a message. Thank you!
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