In the small red dust, I chose to walk alone.
Perhaps, subconsciously, I just want to live a kind of life, lonely but cozy and at ease, lonely but free.
Perhaps, in the eyes and hearts of others, I should not eat food. But why, in this world of materialism, is it still full of vicissitudes of life?
I know, my heart has always had a longing, that is carrying the five hundred years of sin. I spent three lifetimes of reincarnation, upheaval, to this life, but still pale fruitless range of all the sadness, and this life, should be the last reincarnation. In a very small time, I self-promise: if this life, will be thwarted, return to nothingness.
But in this life, I can only be a negative and tired of the woman, light sadness, shallow sorrow. I'm not sure how much I'm going to be able to do this, but I'm sure I'll be able to do it, and I'm sure I'll be able to do it, and I'm sure I'll be able to do it, and I'm sure I'll be able to do it. I have to choose to ask for nothing more than a plain and quiet day, just want to finish this rough life, as long as I like to embrace a gentle and elegant look, high mountains and water, things I two nothing.
Reach out a pair of hands, clutching a handful of sand, all all will be slowly vaporized, who's heart, this is hidden deep fear, this reason, I can not in the heart of the early warning it. I once, bent on a promise to the mouth of the heart, from now on will be moth thrown into the fire without hesitation, this uninteresting destiny, but firm and unbreakable does not leave a residual wave. The first time I saw this, I was in tears, and I was able to achieve a lifetime of tolerance, but who can promise me a lifetime of indulgence?
The sand in the hand that can not hold, why not raise it, tube it is white sand or sands!
Walking alone prose 2
June rain, with a surprisingly cool, in the dusk of this small city, silent attack, flooded the silent and slightly prosperous season.
Another year of parting years, vaguely remember, that late summer, I stood alone in the empty and unoccupied playground, turned around, look at the beautiful leaves rustling down, the setting sun behind me pulled into two narrow shadows, leaving behind a fine fragmentation of the mottled sunlight. Falling and thin, lonely back ....
Three years ago, we were naive with a little rebellion and arrogance, happy and unhappy with a clear and incomparable boundaries. Never just, immersed in their own world, do not know the high ground. We are like children, in all the spoiled under the reckless rampage, happy boundless, happy I am tired, my white clothes fluttering thirteen years old, my do nothing fourteen years old, my cry over laugh over what have had fifteen years old, my was my whole deserted three years of junior high school years, in my inadvertent, hurriedly passed ....
Memory of a period of time, late at night, never a person carrying a large schoolbag, under the dim street lamps, like a free bird in the city of the edge of the lonely walk, occasionally happy or sad silent tears, I know I only own, only left to themselves, never had the luxury of comfort or warmth ... Inadvertently, looked up and saw the sadness on his face, such as the traces of the same time smooth over, I walked through every street of the city, non-stop, non-stop, I want to know when I will be tired.
Those who had been bright and clear, obscure and unclear memory depths, buried me how many joys and sorrows, I counted the past along the road, but only to find some ambiguous . Shadows and messy fragments, time is like merciless flowing water, all the way, all the way to wash my broken memories, I am like a dying old man, in the dusk and the early morning endless sighs, endless sadness.
I always keep remembering the past, although I know that everything will not come back, but still the same.
The sky is cloudy as if it will never clear up again, and the quiet drizzle in the dark night is more lost, and my ears are filled with the endless nagging of my parents and the lazy, decadent music, and I am calmly fighting against all of this with endless silence and anger, and I know that I have no choice but to be silent.
This summer has just begun, our story must end, the parting came unexpectedly, have not had time to say goodbye, really scattered, or many teenagers, in an unknown place, I will still remember, that the school building outside the starry sky, black vaguely through a few threads of light, the messy characters on the blackboard, vaguely extended to the unreachable far away.
I'm alone, growing up, perseverance, pain, are the scenery of the road.
Walking alone prose 3
Under the bright afternoon sun, suddenly saw a butterfly resting on top of a white flower petals, gently kissing the flowers, the short stay, seemingly unintentional encounter, but seems to have been arranged for the encounter. From the thousands of mountains to come, just for this beautiful invitation. In that moment of stopping to stay, as if the whole world has stopped for this, stay in this most beautiful moment. Let people have to be moved for it, for which the intoxicated.
We have been looking for the beautiful, not all so fine ordinary touch? Sometimes, a bird's amorous gaze, or the deep singing; a budding flowers; and even a clean dewdrops, and even a flower in heaven and earth, a leaf, a grass and a tree, can be for this reason and to take care of our simple and beautiful years.
The most beautiful scenery, always not in the distance, right beside us, right in our hearts. As long as the heart is bright, can not be subject to the world, not for this and sad. As long as the heart is beautiful, all things are beautiful, and all love. What we lack is not the beautiful scenery, but the lack of a good eye to find beauty, and even a good heart to find beauty.
Some people say that butterflies are more beautiful, but they can't fly through the sea. However, who can bear to blame? In order to the day of the butterfly dance, from the beginning of the ugly caterpillar, constantly metamorphosis struggle, to be able to break the cocoon into a butterfly, the painful process, but also to train their own mind the road of cultivation. If the butterfly chooses to fall down and retreat in the most difficult time, how will it usher in the day of breaking into a butterfly? And how will have the opportunity to own dance in the world, appreciate the beauty of the world?
The life of a human being is not like the life of a butterfly. The first time I saw this, I was able to get to the bottom of it, and then I was able to get to the bottom of it, and then I was able to get to the bottom of it. When our mind is no longer confused, we will not be lost in the wilderness, and will not lose their way. When you really overcome all the difficulties, you will see the most beautiful scenery, ushered in the dawn of hope.
As with butterflies in general, can vibrate wings, free to fly in the world. Enjoy the joy of flying freely, but also enjoy that break through the barrier after the heart of the happy and joyful.
In our hearts, everyone has a fluttering butterfly in their hearts, but if the butterfly never awakens, then the butterfly's life is just a piece of speechless dead leaves.
Instead of wandering around every corner of life, it is better to stop once in a while, enjoy the beautiful scenery along the way, let the mind get rested and free, temporarily throw the heavy bag on the body, let the thoughts empty, let the mind immersed in the beauty of nature. After a temporary pause, the better to move forward, to reach the more beautiful far away.
If you can, I would also like to learn the butterfly, again and again metamorphosis, again and again wish, neither thought, nor wandering; neither recall, nor sadness. If you walk alone today, you might as well be a butterfly and go to that broader, more beautiful far away, fluttering and go.