"Out of Time" The years I was spoiled by lies, in the morning when a thunderstorm woke me up, I carried a heavy yoke on my back, and fled through time. If the thunder and the rain had chosen to continue to linger, perhaps I could have worshipped the sunset as the dawn, but the lies couldn't escape the judgement of time, and once we loved each other outside of time.
"It Snowed in My Dreams" The snow couldn't replicate the dream of knowing each other, just like tears. I can't return my thoughts to the past I set off from a winter with no winter, searching for a memory as pure as snow along the misty railroad tracks The railroad tracks stretched the memory to a very long and worldly length At first it was round and very much like a dream, but later it was jagged by the wheels into a poignant break that reads like a poem but isn't a poem The days grow old with each passing minute and the youth is left with only the narration of the dialect Stealing an old love from a young city I learnt to brew a poem with a tear in the absence of a winter. In a winter without winter, in a dream without a dream, I met a snowfall in a dashing, clean and white manner
"Appreciating the Snow" I stood on a 30-story building and watched the snow, which stood even higher than I did, and I raised my eyes to look for the snow's untainted appearance, but what came to my eyes was her broken heart. I am not as brave as her, so when she jumped in front of my eyes, I just admire her, but I do not dare to sign a contract of life and death with her. 3, the world in front of me is only left with the snow, everything in the world has become a setup, only the snow is alive, she can sing and dance, but also can speak, and many people have been intoxicated by her elegant and graceful dance, but none of them can understand what she said. 4, the snow is the purity of the sadness of the sorrow of me, I am the purity of the sadness of the snow, I love her not only because of her cloudy dress, I love her not only because of her madness, I love her light, I love her light, I love her light, I love her light. I love her for her lightness and transparency, for her pure romance, and I love her for her quiet sadness, just as I do when I think of you.
The Taste of the New Year I. The white flannel and red coats, the firecrackers in the hands of the children, the taste of the New Year, the smell of the year, the hands of my mother, like the air-dried preserved fish, and my father's ink, and his brush, and his wishes for the New Year hanging on the doorsteps, and the year's joy and harvest, through my mother's hands with their smell of preserved meat, and refined by my mother's charming stove fire, a story called the New Year. A story called "The Year" matures in red wine and cola. The snow and the year have been parted for a long time, the warm sun speeds up the rhythm of spring, and the children gather around the computer to crackle and crackle, and the firecrackers that I once lit in my memory will become nostalgia for eternity, and the dried meat piled up in the corridor fattens up the neighbor's cats and the stray dogs, and my mother sculpts the taste of the year with her own heart, gathered around a fire with no ashes, and my father replicates the hopes and wishes of the world in my own house, and the year's waiting and expectations are reflected in the waiting and hopes of a traveler. The waiting and expectation of the year come to fruition in the footsteps of a traveler returning home. When I heard it was New Year's Eve, I began to wonder what New Year's Eve looked like. When I was young, New Year's Eve was all about new clothes and money. When I was a student, New Year's Eve was all about young postcards and faint memories. When I grew up, New Year's Eve had no conception of what New Year's Eve would look like. Now, New Year's Eve is an unfulfilled longing in my heart. But how can the thousands of words hidden in the heart be woven into the splendor of sorrow without going through the fire of a thousand hammers, and how can they be woven into the splendor of sadness? The undead attachment of the heart is like a rock pressed against the heart, every inch of time wanders, every stunning moment of return, like a cloud falling into the Milky Way, like a youth being buried in a grave, without a predetermined result, and the wounded secret expects to be open, but perhaps you can't yet realize that confession is a kind of liberation of the soul, even though the result is that the result is not a result. I don't miss because the end of missing is speechless
Beginning to miss I wonder if the sky feels lonely without the sun I wonder if the earth still waits when the moon is waning The days are getting thinner and thinner, and the night is much bigger than the day It's said that winter is popular for its warm colors The warmth I long for is in the pit of my heart I haven't reached yet The sun is gone and the sky begins to miss the moon is haggard and the earth begins to miss me I suddenly realized that my heart was neither in heaven nor on earth, the days were long, the nights were dark, the nights were dark
Love is hanging in a great position from a gilded skyscraper, the crowds look up with a thousand eyes, and an old beggar passes by and says calmly that it's just a shriveled up loaf of bread, that's a favorite of pets, and that the battlefield doesn't necessarily have to be a battlefield, but a battlefield of blood, blood, blood, blood. A spring without a story is easily forgotten
Live
Besides being able to eat, drink and shit, one can also be greedy
What proves that a man is alive? Don't think that just because you can breathe, you're not dead. Who can explain how a pandemonium is created? Don't think that just because your heart beats, you're not dead. Who can explain that your heart is still alive when you commit a crime
Death is not as scary as the world thinks it is, it's just a way of being asleep. It's just a sleeping position, a way of knocking concrete, steel, bricks and mortar back to their original form, leaving shovelfuls of earth, the original home. On either side of the path, there is a village and a paradise, and those who live in the village will emigrate to the paradise, but those who live in the paradise will never return to their homeland
The Tomb
This is the land of the aristocrats
The poor are not allowed to walk here, and the ragged are forbidden to enter, but don't think that these few square meters are enough to build a house in the countryside, because we counted the square meters of our houses with our money while we were alive and counted the square meters of the graves with our bars of gold when we were dead. When we were alive, we used money to calculate the square meters of our houses, and when we died, we used gold bars to calculate the square meters of our graves
Others only saw our superficial appearance, and who ever asked us what we wanted? If the moon chooses to wander on, I will always be the back, not the front. If the waves are no longer peaceful, I will always be the left bank, not the thousand sails. If regrets can be cut out, I will always be the past, not the empty sigh. If thoughts can be buried, I will always be the mud of spring, not the fallen flowers. If the moon is full on the other side of the shore, I will always be the cape of the sea, not the end of the earth. I was searching for the warmth of the day I was so confused that I forgot it was the rainy season The scent of the flowers and the birds' voices could only stay in the story of the first time we met but ended up as an interlude I loved you once I thought love was a lifelong thing I emptied my heart just to let you stay in my heart I was so foolish that I didn't know that losing your heart is like losing your whole life
I loved you once I loved you in the dark days, I loved you in the memories, but that's all I've ever known.