Prose with quiet blue sky

As time goes by, some people still have some things.

According to-such as flower season

Life is like a swift river, some people swim and some people ferry. The slow river sings the hymn of life day and night. Many people pay attention to the deep vicissitudes of melody, solemn and deep. I always say to myself that you are a person who swims across the river, and it takes a lot of courage to wade across it, because there is a paradise on earth on the other side or at the end of the river, which was once beyond my reach. ...

I like the sound of cello. It sings slowly and softly, like a heart pulled and sawed, pulling mysterious silk thread, which is painful and unforgettable. I long for a quiet environment and keep a loneliness for my heart. Only when I have a lonely heart will I stop and say to myself, I am so tired, look at the sky and listen to the insects. My friends say that my heart is very old and my body is a teenage girl, but my heart is mottled with walls and filled with too many things that see through the world. I want to get rid of the fetters, and the more indifferent I am, the more lonely I am.

Rely on-like a besieged city

I read Qian Zhongshu's Fortress Besieged, but I didn't understand the story when I first read it. Those who read books in order to complete the reading task later went to college and savored it. The title Fortress Besieged has multiple meanings. A city is a city, whether it's marriage, love or life situation. People in the city can't get out, and people outside the city can't get in.

In the hot years of high school, my friends said that there was a fence in my heart, which was very high. I often listen to my heartbeat, as slow as a spring. In countless gaps between day and night, I always tell myself that you can be a cheerful and bright girl, you can shout and laugh in the street like a madman, you can take off your hard shell and be a lovely woman. When Fang Hung-chien heard the clock strike twelve, he was desperate. After all, an ancient city could not get out.

The poet surrounded his dignity and had to sing a beautiful story. Cup and wine have been intertwined for 1000 years.

Sitting alone in the pavilion, watching the joys and sorrows lightly, no amount of sadness and beauty of life and death can enter your heart. The city wall is too high. I only ask Yingying Yanyan outside the wall, leaving my sadness and parting, laughing and cursing. After a long time, I can imagine those touching love pictures, but after all, I lack a clear outline to build my protagonist.

The moth put out the fire and burned its wings. Her heart was besieged, and only she was moved.

Old photo

Occasionally open the photo album and find that there are not many photos of yourself. When I was a child, there were only a handful of photos, mostly because my family was poor for 90 years, and no one would think of using photos to commemorate that poor memory. However, there will still be one or two photos. Every time I see the first photo of my life, I want to touch it with my hands. The thin piece of paper recorded a moment more than ten years ago. The sun came out in the morning, and the dew on the ground was crystal clear, while I was still a child with two braids and a blank face. Maybe I haven't seen the world and don't know what I'm doing. Memories will flow away with time, people's growth rate will get worse, and those blurred lenses can no longer be focused.

My eyes seem to be full of sand, so I can't rub them out. I can only store tears and turn sand into rivers. Every photo of yesterday is like this. When I was a student, too much romance and debauchery were required to be recorded at a fixed time in national places. Digital technology allows everyone to share the happiness of photo recording with relatives and friends all the time. In the last few pages of the album, the photos are all over the canvas. Everyone, including me, is posing in the same position in different places under the scorching sun. My eyes are slightly narrowed, my eyebrows are slightly wrinkled, my hands are scissors, and my mouth is slightly raised, which proves that I am still smiling and doing something memorable. The sky is blue, the white clouds are cotton, and the mood is like a breeze with ripples.

Time is really good, it can teach me to remember the past, I am not a passer-by, but also the protagonist of the times.

past experience

Sometimes there are memories of deja vu. Sometimes there is a feeling of reincarnation. We always feel as if we have been here before. Psychologically, this is a memory illusion. Meet a person and build a city. At this moment, he will be your protagonist, you are the protagonist and the audience. In Lao Huang's memory, there is a person, I used to be the protagonist, who painted a city for him, filled with all the passions and dreams in the background, just to move him who lost his way. Once a long-term secret love falls in love like a blooming flower, it will wither in the best flowering period.

Christmas Eve that year was a beautiful night, which left me with no regrets of youth. Love, everyone yearns for, everyone will be a moth, and I was not burned to death, because he was warm, warm in love, and the distance was just right. When a person becomes a dream, I realize that I am not the protagonist but the director. Personally guide his behavior, his emotions. Now every time I dream at night, there is always a warm feeling. I have two hands holding me and running. One hug is a little sweet and I can't see my face clearly. It keeps appearing in my dreams. I'm looking for the person of my dreams, and I never want to wake up. Whenever I'm sober and blue. Too infatuated with a person, even in a dream.

The illusion of memory will eventually become dull with the growth of age, so that you can dream again and wake up with a smile even if you are tired again.

end

Hands snuggled up to the green leaves, eyes were ambiguous with the sky, and lips kissed the rain is falling all. Time has changed, and things have changed. The sky is still blue and my heart is safe.