Good sentences and paragraphs (not good words) are badly needed

Childhood, there is always a night, standing on the wet stone steps, looking at the full moon rising in Ran Ran, innocence has turned into a blue sea, a white crescent moon, which makes people feel scared. Who says the moon is an ice wheel? Take it off to be warm. Maybe the last autumn will not be cold because of moonlight. The palm of the leaf on the branch floated quietly on the mossy stone, sighing, sighing, suddenly. The experience of growing up is not very fast.

I regard the whitewashed wall at home as a mottled fantasy painting, and read ancient things with childlike innocence, which aroused countless bubble-like fantasies, fishermen, woodcutters, fishermen in landscapes and waterfront, but I never thought how a child could become an old man. It took me 50 years to understand that no matter how rich the fantasy is, it is just a scene. Without that profound and subtle process, have you ever thought about hugging Leng Yue? String these together and accumulate into a process in the cycle of time and space. In tonight's manuscript, my once black and white hair will fall off.

I hope you can understand my choked nonsense and stop laughing at my madness. In this way, China and I have always been in love, a broken tile, a corner of a brick, some people and things that disappeared in time and space. My memory is full of deep and slippery love. I have heard of my hometown, and the gushing blood has been written into thousands of poems.

Floating on the island for more than 30 years, time has eroded me into a mottled powder wall at home, making young people regard it as a fantastic painting. There is a bare mountain in the north, and a steeple engraved with my name stands in the south of the Yangtze River. My youth is a row of butterfly specimens. Have my memories ever flown into your fantasy?

Love is not a kind of happiness, nor is youth. If you know how a person grows old in time and space, you can savor some special feelings carefully. In China in different time and space, the hell you feared was once a paradise where I had no choice. There is no need to understand youth and love literally. Distinguish homesickness from lovesickness. When I marched on the manuscript paper at night, my sick wife was my backpack, and I sang battle songs, youth and China's youth. But in my feeling, the corridor of history is dark, China loves you, and even China has never been happy.

This is how the sense of hardship takes root. I walked through the endless Ye Ping, from Ye Ping to another horizon. The sky is vast, sweeping the fallen leaves of a season and burning countless faces emerging in the fire. Tragedy is a kind of warmth to me. The sweetness and gentleness spinning under the umbrella is just an illusion standing outside my dream. I hope you know that wrinkles are a book without words, which needs to be understood and experienced by heart. Love may be a kind of happiness, and so is youth. I hope my feelings can be corrected by your feelings. You are another flying butterfly in the world.

One night, I stood on the balcony and looked at the moon. Looking back for decades, spring has not passed, and autumn has not passed. Childlike heart, only half of life is cold. In an instant, months of life came to mind. Is the deep-rooted acacia really urging people to get old? China, the people and things I loved, this land and mountains and rivers, I am a reed with white hair, standing in the night wind to watch, but I haven't seen a wild goose flying over here in the autumn sky.

Standing in an autumn season, I actually picked up a piece of red leaves in the south of the Yangtze River from the smoky old pages. Time is a fog of insanity, and there is no running water and poetry on the leaves. Therefore, my youth simply lacks the romantic feeling of "poems on red leaves". China, my heart is an ancient well full of moss, dark and deep, full of ups and downs.

One rainy night, I accompanied my wife to find a clothing store called Youth. The light dazzled into a ball of prickly light in the rain and fog, and I couldn't tell whether I was standing or hanging. My wife forgot to bring her address. When she met someone, she asked: Where is youth? The person who was asked gave a surprised look. -the couple with frosted temples actually asked him when he was young? Later, we suddenly laughed at each other sadly, as if we had picked up the madness and stupidity of childhood in an instant. Finally, I found a shop with a narrow facade. The glass windows are covered with China's classical clothes. I think it will be interesting for my wife to wear them. If life is a play, that's it. Her smiling eyes are shining with tears. Three points sweet, seven points sad. The days we passed, the places we passed, and the colors of Chinese ode in a trance depict the people and things we love together. China is not a noun. I hope you understand that we are not Zhuang Zhou, and become a butterfly in spirit does not need philosophy.