Beautiful short prose: happiness is like water.
Some roads, if you don't go on, you don't know how beautiful the scenery is there.
It suddenly dawned on me that it doesn't matter what others think of you or how you explore life yourself. It is important that you really spend the time falling through your fingers like rain, and you know how you will live.
You didn't know the power of wine until you were drunk, but you didn't know its weight until you fell in love with it. You can't be my poem any more than I can be your dream.
Sometimes I don't want to talk for no reason, and sometimes I feel bad for no reason. I just want to be alone quietly, nobody cares, no matter what. Maybe the world is too depressing, maybe we are contaminated with too much glitz, and we can't easily face the present life at all times. I just hope someone can say "don't be afraid, I'm here" when they are lost.
If life is like a long street, I don't want to miss every tiny scenery on this street; If life is just a short dream on the long street, I am willing to make this short dream full of business.
Every sensible and calm present has a silly and naive past, and every warm and indifferent present has a sad and uneasy past.
I like to take the train, I like to go south or north slowly one stop at a time, and I like me during the journey. Just because, in the middle of the journey, I don't belong to the starting point or the end point, I don't belong to anywhere or anyone. At this moment, I just need to belong to myself.
I think when I am alone in the crowd, I have the love of the crowd when I am alone. I want the clouds in the sky and the water in the bottle, so free and clear forever.
This is my world. Thorns are everywhere and traps are heavy. I don't know why I laugh when I laugh, nor why I cry when I cry. I've been digging in it for decades, over mountains and over mountains, and dug several thousands of feet, and finally I found what I wanted. Sometimes I'm happy about it, but more often, I'd rather I've never been here.
People who haven't contacted for a long time don't need to contact again. We have worked hard, lived our lives, and there is no intersection. What should stay in the past, let it stay in the past. If it's fate, we'll meet again. If not, you might as well not read it.
We all need to grow up. Growth has different directions, different levels and different ways. Then, if you need anything now, do it at once. Everything in the past, just be grateful, and the future exists in every moment.
All the time in life is not wasted. As long as you pass by, you will leave traces and become mature.
Life is like a dance, the person who teaches you the first dance step may not be able to accompany you to the end.
Happiness is like drinking water, and you know it very well. Your happiness is not in the eyes of others, but in your own heart.
Beautiful short prose: drunken passers-by in the world of mortals, peace of mind in the mountains
Sleepless at night, standing in front of the window, staring at the stars, missing into sorrow. The moonlight is cold and the breeze is blowing, causing a lake of worries. ......
I always thought that meeting in this life was fate. I only want to wear plain clothes for you in this life, with light makeup and thick ink, like lotus and Zen.
Green mountains are high, clear water is far away, and the ends of the earth are far away. When shall we meet? I am in the depths of time, and I can't find my way. Qian Qian is absent from singing, but she yearns for it. Her heart has long been glued to the stone and will not be broken. Looking back and frowning, your tenderness, dancing in the spring and autumn, shows my thousands of attachment.
The night is long and the road is long. I don't know how many joys and sorrows are hidden in this world. It turns out that the flowers are similar every year, and people are different every year. So much for the gentlest cruelty in the world.
Deja vu, sigh greetings. The pen end is full of acacia, and the pen end is full of worries. The ink cloud dyed the paper and made it very fragrant. Every morning and evening, I am as attached as ever; At dusk, I shed tears. If my expectation and waiting are just a glass dream, I will do my best, and I will definitely live up to an encounter in this life.
Love leaves, peach blossoms, fairy pool pavilion. Lonely buttonwood rain night rain, drops of tears? Thinking hard, tired of dressing up at night. Gambling on tea and splashing ink is just ordinary. The waning moon is like a hook, Meng Han at the west window, and countless heartbroken dreams. The blue bridge dream is broken, and the soul dream is not finished. Wrong past life, wrong this life, always empty. Put a pot of muddy wine, get drunk, Mo Wen past life, Mo Wen afterlife.
Empty, looking for several times, sad several times. A finger of time, broken into dust all over the sky. The Millennium dream of the world of mortals, the years of the world of mortals. Youth is gone, youth is fleeting, but Iraqis are hard to see.
Breeze drag, flowers bloom and fall, a hundred years wrong, a hundred years missed. Copying and splashing ink, thoughts flying, how many tears flying, how many feelings outstanding? I'm still writing about an old dream. Who cried in the dream? Sighing only sighs, it is difficult to draw a dream, beauty is prosperous, and sorrow is a river.
The sunset is quiet, the water is gurgling, the birds are sleeping, and the bugs are sleeping in the grass. I can't bear to ruin this beauty. My sorrow is insignificant.
Freehand brushwork a paragraph of text, choose a corner to let go of your worries, four seasons change, time turns again, a sadness, fireworks and the world of mortals are still singing. The fate is very short, and I forbid you to leave my world silently.
Waiting for silence, pursuing the trace of autumn wind, I am looking for your direction. Your world, so warm. I said, I will spend my whole life writing poems for you, waiting for you to read them quietly one day.
The chaos of the world of mortals, the chaos of the world of mortals, the love of the world of mortals, the drunkenness of the world of mortals, the drunkenness of the world of mortals, the secret disappearance of the world of mortals, and the scattered soul. The world of mortals has a hangover, and where is my home in the depths of the world of mortals? I am reluctant to go, dreaming hard, dyeing beauty and sighing the world of mortals. Deep in the world of mortals, tender as water, the moon in the mirror. This life has always been Conan's dream.
Half-bent waning moon, pouring water into a cup, a few clouds are as soft as silk. Yue Hui's aura is still deep and shallow, as if there is nothing. Slightly faint, beautiful I am in the lotus in the middle of the lake. Infinite thoughts, confusion and sadness.
The moon is full of rain and shine, and life is full of joys and sorrows. Time is indifferent to the past, lightly edited and entangled. Soft, warm and full of affection, I am drunk and worried.
Plain pen and green paper, handwritten time. Thousands of wounds, every word to achieve the year of China. The ancient rhyme flows, and Sandy is lingering.
Who cares about the tenderness of the world of mortals? Scattered a cold smoke, longing for chords. Over the years, the past of late spring has faded away, and Meng Han lives quietly and without words.
Looking back on the headland, the years have changed, and everything is hard to meet. Sorrow and joy gather and disperse, who complains about everlasting love words?
Holding a plain pen, the ink is danqing, and a river is full of love and hate; Feelings are sent to the end of the world, dreams are looking for the ends of the earth, and all the mountains are lonely people; The world of mortals, the vicissitudes of time, the wind is light and the clouds are light.
I think the years I miss must be nowhere to be found. In this life, I am just an ordinary traveler. In this life, I am willing to be an infatuated person who is intoxicated in the red world.
Looking back on thousands of Baidu, the world of mortals is drunk with passers-by, but the mountains are comfortable. ......
Beautiful short prose: acacia maple, dyed red beans
In autumn, maple trees have gone through lush green, and gradually turn red with the relay of life. That kind of red is not gorgeous or enchanting, with exquisite golden color, mature taste, romantic color, sweet love and bitter acacia. Maple leaves a message to miss it, expecting perfection, always in a trace of missing. In the poetic years, every time maple leaves are mentioned, it will be associated with acacia, which seems to have become an endorsement.
Autumn has come, and poetry is flying all over the sky, laying a brocade-like carpet for the arrival of this season; There are beautiful chrysanthemums and fragrant osmanthus flowers, which add color to autumn with their own postures and make autumn silent; Maple leaves attract people's attention with a whole color, red, red, like clusters of flames. Maple forests are all dyed, and the mountains are red. It also painted the mountain, dressed like a married woman, with a red veil and a red scarf, so conspicuous that it shone red all autumn.
Feng Dan welcomes autumn, and autumn comes as scheduled. When you see that fiery red leaf, it is treasured in a book page by page, or made into a gift for each other. Perhaps the love given by this leaf is how many days and nights, the candle shadow is red, with a kind of ignorance and a kind of delusion; I believe it is brought by maple leaves. This lingering smell makes autumn warm and warm. I like the feeling of giving someone a rose and leaving a lingering fragrance in my hand. It is warm and fragrant.
Graceful maple trees, dancing affectionately, faint and distant; Whether it opens or not, it is an excellent love flower. It is fragrant and self-sustaining, and it is an affair. This is madness and obsession. A tree with a red leaf makes a window full of moon buds, red beans bloom in Feng Dan, and red is full of autumn slopes; This season's autumn, chrysanthemum yellow, maple red, finally positioned in your heart, your favorite appearance, fiery red, happiness; It's like singing for one person all my life, and hurting my bones for one person.
"Stop and sit in the maple forest late, and the frost leaves are red in February." Appreciate the maple forest, love it, and think about the frosted maple leaves. They will bloom more brilliantly because of this love, and they will be even more fiery than the flowers in February, making people more lovable. The frosty maple leaves are all dyed, red in the eyes, falling in the heart, reflecting the red beans in the south of the Yangtze River, evoking the moonlight of missing, or waiting for childhood friends in my hometown; Or a bosom lover, a caring hand.
I prefer "a thousand maple leaves, a sunset sail hidden on the river bridge." This sentence is a poem written by Yu, a poetess in the Tang Dynasty. Maple leaves are leafy and layered, hidden under the river bridge, which makes people delay seeing the returning ships. Missing constantly, like poetry, like water, like silk; Miss the wind like rain, infatuation like orchid like maple, the maple tree in one season has ended, and I will miss the fragrance and dye red beans!
The maple leaf is like a long red silk scarf. In the autumn wind, it drags itself up and flies in the clear sky. Facing the autumn sunset, it is vivid, knocking on the threshold of missing, adding the shadow of osmanthus, full of feelings, overlapping the memories of autumn love, dragging gracefully, wandering in small words. Maybe this little girl is hard to write, but she has been popular for a season.
In Qiu Li, maple trees dance in red and graceful, dancing the heart of this season, rooting red beans in the context of time, and dyeing a frame of thoughts, you can think at any time and read at any time; Beautiful dream, on the eaves of time, wandering an old word, like a literati, even the Tang poetry and Song poetry, plain and faint, walking through pavilions, stepping on slates, looking for the trace of that person on the moss, walking all the way through the trace, writing down the acacia maple tree.
Acacia maple dyed red beans, the rain fell all night and the frost worried, the candle shadow shook the red cold window, the phoenix tree leaves were sparse, and the crane language flew away and worried; The drizzle breaks the bridge and the yellow flowers are sparse. Who will stay when people go back? When will the song stop slowly, and the lingering words shake the shadow deeply in autumn!
Beautiful short prose: like water passing by, it is safe and warm.
Youth always rushes away. And I have long been buried in the fleeting rain, struggling painfully. Youth is a painful practice. It's raining hard and fast. In an instant, the remnant clouds rolled, and the lightning flashed and thundered, hitting my heart and ears directly. My heart was scarred in an instant, and my ears could not hear any sound in an instant. I became a burnt fruit and was buried in the soil, and my body stopped growing.
I recall my childhood and youth in the autistic space.
Childhood, in my most beautiful fleeting time, is full of fragrant flowers. I spent my childhood babbling in the warm arms of my mother; I fell asleep sweetly in my mother's warm words; I grew up happily under the gentle care of my mother.
Childhood, we lived in poverty, lack of material, no beautiful clothes, no rich meals, no gorgeous houses. The clothes I am wearing are made of cloth that my mother picked up from the flea market. But the clothes made by my mother taste very gentle and have the special fragrance left by my mother. Put them on and smell them, and I feel very kind.
At that time, we only ate soy bibimbap for every meal. Delicious bean juice mixed with cheap coarse rice is simple but delicious. At that time, rice was a very luxurious food, and not everyone could eat it at every meal, so my mother changed to steamed bread. Mom's steamed bread, flour and water are fully mixed, and after several hours of fermentation, it becomes a bright, big and round ball, which looks like the bright moon in the sky and makes my mouth water. After full fermentation, mother divided the dough into smaller dough, then rubbed it into strips, then cut each strip into pieces with a knife and steamed it in a pot. Finally, the attractive steamed bread was baked. Steamed bread, fragrant and mouth-watering.
My childhood with my mother was really carefree and happy. In this family, there are mother's kind smile, fairy tales that mother can't finish, simple and delicious meals that mother can't finish, brightly colored cocks and hens raised by mother, and small eggs that only I can enjoy.
In the flower season, I tried to interpret the meaning of youth with my own transformation. On the playground, I often leave my vigorous posture, and the salty sweat makes me walk like a fly; Every morning when the sun rises, I hold a thick English book, read it aloud and recite it hard; In every math class, I leave my eyes focused and diligent thinking; In every history class, I leave full pages of notes and long questions; In every self-study class, I have left a figure of hard writing; On the edge of every sunset lotus pond, my careful observation eyes stay, scattered with the ink fragrance of pages of extracurricular reading materials.
Through continuous efforts, I won flowers and applause, praised eyes and deep friendship, and won teachers' praise and expensive grades. It's just that I have too many shortcomings, too much self-righteousness and too much complacency. When I boarded the hall of honor, I found that all the people withdrew their envious eyes, all the people cast contemptuous eyes, and all the people made me feel unreasonable.
In the long night, I cried alone; The ever-burning lamp elongates my lonely shadow; The long moon can't shine on my sadness. The lotus pond in the moonlight is too quiet, and those charming and shy lotus flowers seem to be very boring. The moonlight is boundless, where should I go? Lonely moon, when will you be round? Lotus leaf, when can you move my sad eyes?
Flowers of youth, also want to thank; The fruit of youth cannot bear fruit; The song of youth is full of bloody pain. My youth, where are you? Please tell me, how to find your direction? Lotus is like your face, why can't it ripple in my heart?
The four seasons of life, flowers bloom and fall; The moon of life has ups and downs; The road of life is long and short. Complex mood, swaying in the moonlight, the road of youth, it is difficult to walk. Youth should be dancing; Youth should be fragrant; Youth should be colorful; Youth should be wonderful; Youth should be beautiful and flawless; Youth should be a ripple of the soul; Youth should be full of vitality.
Youth should be full of lively light; Should face the future with a smile; Should sing fearless songs; Should live in the present; We should cherish the present; We should plan the future in advance; We should live hard; Should do what should be done; Should walk the line.
Youth should be filled with a cheering heart; Youth should have a positive heart; Youth should have a happy and forward-looking heart; Youth should have a warm heart; Young people should have a strong and optimistic heart.
The moon has ups and downs, and people have joys and sorrows. Who said that our youth must be free from sadness, pain, yearning, tears, loneliness and confusion? Who said that our youth must cherish beauty; I'm sure I can be grateful; Must be able to improve the mind; We must all be optimistic, and we must all go forward; I believe everyone can be fearless? Who said that our youth will cherish time and live beautifully? Must relax; Must be full of brilliance; Must be flawless?
No one's youth is always smooth sailing; No one's youth is always full of flavor; No one's youth is always full of beauty; No one's youth is unlucky; No one's youth is always full of sadness and pain; Nobody's youth is always poor.
Youth is our four seasons in the world, with colorful spring and full of vitality; There should be enthusiasm and romance in summer, heavy rain and rainbow after rain; There must be a cool breeze in autumn, autumn rain bursts, and Qiu Guang is warm; There is bound to be snow in winter, thousands of miles are frozen, and snow drifts in Wan Li.
Youth is a painful and happy practice; Childhood is the spring of life, which is extremely warm and happy. Life, with the maternal love and happiness of childhood, has the beginning of youth. The happiness of youth begins with childhood, the feeling of youth begins with sudden pain, and the gratitude of youth ends with the happiness of childhood and the feeling of youth forever.
Like water, it is warm and safe. After experiencing the spring of life, the spring, summer, autumn and winter of the world, we realized that the years passed like water, but we were not in a hurry, leaving us with beautiful memories and a deep understanding of life; Time flies like water, but it is not cold. It has carved a warm picture in our minds and filled our hearts with warm affection. It plants a warm seed in the depths of our souls, grows golden buds, blooms golden flowers, blooms golden light and emits golden fragrance.
Beautiful short prose: stay because of waiting.
Standing at the head of that narrow rain lane is not for meeting, but for picking up memories. The ancient stone bridge, with blue bricks and green tiles, and the path covering the longitude and latitude can make anyone lose their way. If the flowers are not deep and the rain is not thick, who will come here for no reason? The sky is dim and the stars are dim. Everything around you is like a dream scene. Life is just illusory. No matter how deep your feelings are, I will eventually possess you.
In March, the wind blew on Liu. Heather, be silent on the shore, by the pool. There are some people who flow quietly in time. Meet by chance and find that similar self. So they love each other, there is no eternal life, only dusk and dusk. I remember at that time, I said I was like the wind, and I decided to wander around you because I met you. But you said you were like rain, no matter the season, you always choked. Because you met me, you decided to lose yourself. All words, like vows, take root and sprout from now on. We all hope that one day, those loves will grow into a huge number.
I used to just pick up other people's stories to enrich my feelings, but now I find that every moment I love deeply can continue to write an ending. But we can't put pen to paper in love at will, so the doomed road becomes thinner and one day we will go to the cliff. That day, we invited each other to read books. When you read "Mo Tao is immortal, the west wind blinds, and people are thinner than yellow flowers", you suddenly whispered: "No one can understand who the chrysanthemums are thin outside the window."
Some people live to wait, while others live to fall. Li Qingzhao wrote a poem "Drunken Flowers" to miss her husband Zhao Mingcheng, but Zhao Mingcheng did not feel his wife's loneliness and loneliness for the first time after receiving it, but only raised his desire to be competitive. After writing dozens of songs in a few days, I gave them to my friend Liu Defu for evaluation. After reading it, Liu Defu just liked three sentences, that is, "Don't die", and Zhao Mingcheng felt ashamed. I know that there are always so many people in love who are unwilling to win or lose, and so many people are willing to fall into the dust for you. And Chun Qing of Li Qingzhao became a competition in the hands of Zhao Mingcheng. It turns out that later books are all boiled and poured tea, and there is no love at all. The only way at that time was not unusual, but at a loss.
Feelings can't be perfected by one person. Take each other's hobbies as habits, and take each other's emotions as emotions. Some love, just a person is playing, a person is watching, and when the play is over, the feelings paid are gone. Tan Zhi is willing to be a servant for A Zi, but Xiao Feng will always be in A Zi's heart. Later, you Tan Zhi gave a purple light, but he still didn't regret it. A Zi's eyes often shed tears. She didn't know it was love. You think it's just a blessing to have someone to help you complete the drama of life. In fact, that person can't escape you at first sight.
Tang Xianzu said: I don't know what the situation is, but if this continues, the living can die and the dead can live. People who are born but can't be born and die, and those who die and can't be resurrected, are not affectionate. Feelings are greater than life and death, beyond reincarnation. Du Liniang's dream is to keep love to the freezing point of the world. One person is willing to wait for it, and one person is willing to stay for it. No one is right or wrong because he wants to.
The rain and dew are slippery and foggy. Please walk hand in hand when you float here. In the world of mortals, no one owes happiness to anyone. It is only because the love in previous lives is not full that we will practice hand in hand in this life. Who is coming from the mist in the narrow and long rain lane? Who's holding a splash-ink paper umbrella? Who is carrying the sadness of lilacs? The ancient stone bridge, the blue bricks and green tiles, and the path covering the longitude and latitude have already worn out two strange agreements.