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If you are well, it is a sunny day
(1)
If the night stops singing and leaves only faint silhouettes, is it possible that my despondency will be serene with the stillness of the night.
If, let the memories stop roaming, leaving only a shallow afterglow, will my thoughts, with the termination of memory, stop.
----Title
The end of our story has been several years of time, confused, so a person walked for a long time. I can't remember the scenery on the way, I can't see where the end of the journey is.
Long time did not go to look for traces of you, the past all kinds of things, seem to be no longer the flavor of the year, the years flowed by in a hurry, dyed white in the memory of the last thread, from now on, can only become a bunch of wind chimes in front of your window, ringing the deepest echoes of memory.
Perhaps, behind every prosperity, there will be hidden countless sorrows, such as fancy years, recall, but countless nostalgia and loneliness. Behind the smile, how many bitter tears are flying, the chapter of memories, and who is who's tenderness is fixed to eternity, into the heart of that a never-ending traces.
In this way, can only let a drop of warm tears, with a line of cold words, the end of my confused dream, this may be the story, this is probably the end. The difference is that in the story, you are still stretching your beautiful dress, while in the ending, I am lost in the crowd of people coming and going.
I don't know how long I've been wandering around the edges of this memory, but I always thought that your smile had been blurred by me, but on the yellowed rice paper, the faded handwriting of that road, but your face is incomparably clearer than that portrayed in my mind, and my mouth mumbled the name I've called a thousand times, and in such a cold night, how do I walk through the loneliness of the flooded heart.
Perhaps, meeting and parting are destined to be a brush with two levels, just like our story, we have not been able to embark on the relative road, so we will be farther and farther away, far away from the direction of the time when we can no longer find back, only some messy footprints left, the wrong arrangement in the way this does not have a place to return to.
The fading of time reflects the fragments of the past, looking at the dawn of the sky, a new day will come, broken dreams, pale face of my maturity, listening to the ears of yesterday's song, greeted by tomorrow's sighs.
Remember, that year, you danced with light steps, wading through the flowing water, and came to me from afar. Remember, that year, you used laughter, accompanied me through an unforgettable journey. Now, I am the only one left, embarking on a long journey, drifting in the distance in the shape of a shadow.
The night, as always, deep, in the face of those who recorded the past text, the mood to say not to say the complexity of the past, counting the bits and pieces of the past, fuzzy eyes on their own, said: let go, everything should be the past, love you, should let you fly, if you become the wind, I will be the cloud, always behind the back of the silent guard will be enough.
Life is like this, wandering in pain, after the loss of knowledge, it is because of this, we can continue to grow, and continue to understand, although the process is so bitter, but as long as the other party can be happy, sadness will also be transformed into a rainbow in the sky, even if it is a rainbow of sadness, but also the story of the two, permanently fixed in the beautiful moment.
The fate of the gathering and dispersal of the fate of the end can not escape the fate of the arrangement, the fate of the coming, dreaming, the fate of the gone, heart broken ......
You if you are well, it is a sunny day.
(2)
Time is like water, always without words.
If you are well, then it is a sunny day
--Ye Zi
When I read this sentence elsewhere, I pondered over it for a long time, and inexplicably felt a warmth and a touching feeling.
Sometimes a sentence is worth a thousand words, and it is enough to warm up all the coldness and indifference in the heart.
Always want to be a quiet walker,
In the deepest red dust, guard yourself, guard the initial bud and happy.
Or trapped in a book of light and shadow in the flow of years, looking through those vaguely old dreams.
Time as if a cup of still water, still profound still can be deep flow,
And this mood has nothing to do with the wind and the moon, the water passes shocked to go.
Standing at the intersection of time, looking back at the beauty and tenderness that once walked by.
Many people, many things, many once flower hair branch full of thirst and longing,
Still in the years of the river slowly flow through, and silently back.
Inventory of each mood text, more or less through a light melancholy and heavy,
And an unwarranted melancholy and confusion.
Reaching out, the water-colored time poured from the fingers like sand, like an enchanting and determined butterfly.
No matter how you hold on to your hands, and no matter how you try to hold on to the life of the years have not been desolate,
Youth is like a feast in the city, makeup and colorful debut, but also luxury and low-key curtain.
Those green and beautiful lush, is still the heart of the deepest and most really sweet and pain.
From time to time, I receive a call or text message from a friend at an unexpected time.
No need for too many words, no need for too many pleasantries and hypocrisy.
A few faint greetings or blessings can give rise to countless wonderful and touching feelings.
Listening to the gentle or low voice on the other end of the phone,
Casually chatting a few words, know each other well, each other will smile, enough.
Already used to such days, a person, a book, a cup of tea,
In the music of those light as light traces, to see all the stories and plots are dispersed one after another.
I know, all the applause and applause, are just a scene of wind and snow nothingness.
In the morning and evening when the sun rises and the moon sets, I silently count the flowers blooming and the wind passing by.
I am only in the same place, waiting for the warmest moment in life,
waiting for a pair of hands to hold me with happiness and tenderness.
The world is full of things, the time is ultimately speechless,
The so-called obsession may just be false, the so-called arrival is also just the end.
And the youth, and how like a grand fireworks, fragile and so easy to fade.
More beautiful and exquisite splendor, are just a glimpse of the amazing.
With the passing of the wind, how can the flowing water keep on carving?
Thousands of times to look back, still can't scoop up the once years,
Then again the big false and complicated ultimately have to return to the real and plain.
And you and I, it is too late for us to bury an ambush for ourselves and set a direction for ourselves,
The thorns and frustrations will come out of the air and force us to the point where we have no way to retreat.
Only waiting for the eyes full of empty flowers bloom into a half-sigh, and the desolation on the moon salvage the memory of the unexplored.
Life is more than that, red dust is endless.
Only a ride for a kind of understanding, only a ride for an experience, so, just.
As in the palm of my hand, I can't hold on to the charm of the cold, I can't hold on to my fingertips, I can't hold on to the injury into the mound.
Like to recite "fireworks can not be cut", like this light to the extreme decadence.
Only a few words like this, you can see people's eyes and heart full of barrenness and loneliness.
I am not a person who is good at expressing emotions and thoughts, and I will not pile up words on paper.
I am just bright with sadness, and the wind is as clear as water.
Lamenting the fact that there were once so many watery flowers,
Today there are only half a dozen sighs and memories, which accidentally messed up yesterday's eyes.
Take a look at yourself in the mirror, counting each and every one of the years on the temples,
The twilight surprised, time just like this in the silence of the speechless passed away.
In a flash, the heart, disjointed roots, creeping grass.
But I finally know, know, is still a constant presence.
You come or you don't come, in or out, it doesn't matter anymore.
Perhaps only words can dispel the biggest confusion and flood in the heart,
And perhaps everything has long been destined to cause and effect.
I let myself drift through the lonely river, also let myself through the patches of rust,
in the name of poetry, a silent and sharp dialogue.
The dusk comes in heavily, the memories are speckled with echoes, and the dark scent is still there.
Life is a one-act play, always staging extremely similar episodes.
And I, but in other people's stories,
capture their own mood, but also the same feeling of other people's mixed feelings.
When that wordless hang-up and dependence,
turned into a small touch, turned into the heart of the rich and full,
Rolling in the dust, and who is the life of the spectator and passer-by?
We always like to pretend to be proud and mature when we are young,
Like to imagine ourselves as the pair of eyes behind the floating life,
To understand everything, indifferent and calmly look at all the floating world painting.
But I can't smile at the flowers, nor can I ask for a hint of wisdom,
Any trivialities and mundane matters can easily crush me.
Restoring life itself, my smallness and humility is not worth mentioning.
Only the deepest part of the soul that the most true and deepest desire and longing,
Like the weak light of the firefly, guiding me all the way forward.
Life is too shallow, and the lake is very deep.
Traveling through the initial fuzzy marks, some people, some things, destined to be obliterated by running water.
Outside the window, is a big big time, dazzling away.
Inside the window, it is a frustrated, windy state of mind.
Pushing open a door called years, many years were finally gradually stranded.
And you, always the light and shadow in the diagonal grid,
wandering on the edge of dream and reality.
If I can reverse the tranquility behind the murmurings, knocking the folds of the years,
and review the broken fragments of memory, to the fingertips with a touch of warmth,
Then the sky in September, will certainly become pure and clean.
Be sure to let all the thoughts instantly flutter and fly, let the season go and come back.
If the time locked lush, trailing cold vegetarian moon clear fall,
then the weak water three thousand, who take you a dipper, drunken drink outside the red dust?
This world, there is not a road is repeated.
Like loneliness, like memories, like certain times, certain people, will still be the direction of attention,
But the wind has slackened, and the tattoos have long left a dark wound, the pain as yesterday.
Turning over thousands of landscapes, I always believe,
Some injuries can not be extinguished, some memories can not fade, some people can not be released.
Even if I am sitting here thinking of you at this moment, or if I leave you one day,
I will take root in your world with love and hope.
In this life, if you are well, it is a sunny day.