Sentimental beauty
1. How many mottled alleys have you walked through, squatting over the vicissitudes of ancient trees again and again, walking on the edge of missing, quietly listening to the autumn wind, distracting the erhu sound, I don’t know how far, slowly, I closed my eyes and took a bumpy step to find and look for the song that reminded me of my thoughts.
2, in my heart, infinitely inexplicable empty silence, winter morning, no sunshine, spring is far away, still far away and far away feeling, just like the touchless sticky, the sky, the ashes, Looking at me with sorrow, sorrow, sourness, suddenly can not understand the reason of life, firm.
3, in the distance, faintly flashing through the waters of the Mianmian River, faintly, faintly blurred, faintly dancing at the fingertips, and the pain of snagging. Who in the years to come is full of tenderness and warmth of that old heart.
4, in the night of the night, with delicate words to recall the joy of childhood, beautiful four seasons of the mood, indulged in the past years. The memory of Feng Dian is opened one by one. The picture is like a film of black and white movies. It is played back in the mind with a nostalgic speed, bit by bit, and brings infinite love and faint sorrow under the tapping of the keyboard.
5, the heart, by a string of memories of the fall; love, lingering in a period of memories; mind as dust, can also be like flowers. I know that some beauty is in the heart, it is warm; some past, quiet, is the best. I am used to quietly putting some thoughts into sorrows, smashing into warmth, referring to the past, and describing the moon; looking back, swaying into the fragrance; not thinking about right and wrong, right and wrong, letting the past go with the wind, letting the thoughts sink into incense...
6, like to enjoy the quietness of a person's writing in the deep twilight; like to relax the tight nerves in the soothing music; like the sound of the sunset to bring a quiet feeling to the soul; like watching the movie of sadness, like to be alone Enjoy sad words, like all the stories about beauty, and like to use sad words to describe the loneliness of the night.
7, the book reads Yuanshan Qianliu Liu, the pen will carefully carve the years, this is the quatrain I have always remembered, in the world of the world, the book is still silent and sincere, like some proverbs: such as quiet Zhiyuan, indifferent to Mingzhi. Always tell yourself not to have too much annoyance, so you can think that you are strong, that stubborn and hopeless. I believe that being too tied in emotion is a complicated exchange.
8, time flies, slanting in front of the window, listening to this monsoon, feel the autumn as soon as possible, that is my favorite scene. The blue sky, when there are birds flying, can you bring my thoughts to your pillow? Who knows, the peach blossoms can't hide the bleakness in the smile, who is pitiful. The mourning of the first generation, the scent of the dusty and fragrant, can make my thoughts dripping.
9, gently stepping on the dead leaves under the feet, silently watching the city under the neon, suddenly felt that in his nephew, there are more emotions that should not have been originally? care? Not giving up?
10, youth is a bright sorrow, those cities that face the sky, those who wash away the face of the lead, in the gears of fate rolling, all fall, from now on, the people who pass by, each twirling in a different In destiny, each is in a different scar. When the train rumbling to crush our bright youth, there is no, sad, crying.
11. Strolling through the road of life, as a lonely one, we often go forward with an indifferent mentality, but we always know when we first met at the moment of separation. There are countless laughter and whispers, but when we wave The two lines of tears.
12, stroll through the red dust, laughing at the stories of those who have been in the middle of the year! Happy, sad, melancholy, helpless, desolate, like a film, constantly looping! Gradually, it seems that I realized something, but I was awakened by the damn cold wind, and I wrapped my coat in desperation. Under the faint yellow streetlight, I walked slowly!
13, the cold wind is slowly, the dead leaves are mottled, and the green frost in the corner has begun to rise up in white, how many past dreams like these infatuations, staged again and again in front of my eyes, and I am covered with injuries. The bumpy stone steps, the decaying wooden doors, the dilapidated alleys, maybe I still like the grass and trees here, the wind stopped raging, the moon was quietly spreading the cold clear light, I was kneeling in front of this dilapidated door. Holding the red leaves you like, I crawled in the withered red leaves and sang sad songs.
14, squatting in the eye is still a fuzzy tears, in the winter's depression, extremely desolate, cold, there is a kind of desire to stop thinking about smashing the heart, once again spread the palm, capture the streamer, my you, look far In the curtain of time and space, we will try our best to breathe the softness of the faint scent, slowly infiltrating the heart, and the all that grows is the moisturizing memory. It slips on the corners, wets the red dust, and a curtain of dreams is frozen. The tail of the deep winter is sad and lonely.
15. The hurricane is drunk and quiet, and whoever listens to it. The sly steps of the squatting down in the deep path of the ink, thinking of a small window smashing the old lights, sighing the sound of the empty building. In the Qingming, such as the weeping, in the damp mood, the strings of the memories are moved. I am quietly tasting the loneliness of the loneliness, and the mouth is cold and rising.
16, but I have not been sad, because a hidden person has come to me in a late autumn, his state of mind is exactly the same as mine, under the leisurely Nanshan, we meet unexpectedly, then, we become brothers, a cup The turbid wine is drunk in the mountains. It’s my own face, and I’m away from the bustling, guarding my own, plain, watery, smiling, and safe.
17, this situation is a lot of decisions, I do not sleep, in the cold moonlight, in the cold of the autumn wind, long sleeves floating, arching trembling body, looking up at the dark stars in the sky, if you are still, maybe I also Not living so painfully.
18, long years like a song without a name, but there are lingering thoughts in the song, endless lament. There are too many helpless words in the song to hide, but there will always be a day with the wind. Open the dusty memory, can your own young face on the title page be clearly identified? Perhaps the young face, even ourselves, has forgotten, so I didn't continue to turn down, and I slept with a sigh of swaying time.
19, capture the moment of life, the ultimate retention, after all, still slip away like a rabbit, in my thoughts of the image turned over and over. Fenghua is a kind of flowing sand, and it is a long time old. Then, my years, your years, in the blink of an eye, everything settles in the dream, sadness and sorrow.
20, a little bit of residual flowers with wet eyebrows, do not return to the Philippine butterfly, rouge tears, with flowers flying, empty a season of lotus. Summer is coming to the autumn, purple smoke contains smoke, maple red chrysanthemum yellow, thin acacia Liu; rain broken cold pond, more broken bridge. The water on the bluestone plate flows freely, and the oil paper umbrella smashes. Like the tie of yesterday, reluctant love, the film thoughts condensed in the heart of the eyebrows, scattered on every lonely night.
2, in my heart, infinitely inexplicable empty silence, winter morning, no sunshine, spring is far away, still far away and far away feeling, just like the touchless sticky, the sky, the ashes, Looking at me with sorrow, sorrow, sourness, suddenly can not understand the reason of life, firm.
3, in the distance, faintly flashing through the waters of the Mianmian River, faintly, faintly blurred, faintly dancing at the fingertips, and the pain of snagging. Who in the years to come is full of tenderness and warmth of that old heart.
4, in the night of the night, with delicate words to recall the joy of childhood, beautiful four seasons of the mood, indulged in the past years. The memory of Feng Dian is opened one by one. The picture is like a film of black and white movies. It is played back in the mind with a nostalgic speed, bit by bit, and brings infinite love and faint sorrow under the tapping of the keyboard.
5, the heart, by a string of memories of the fall; love, lingering in a period of memories; mind as dust, can also be like flowers. I know that some beauty is in the heart, it is warm; some past, quiet, is the best. I am used to quietly putting some thoughts into sorrows, smashing into warmth, referring to the past, and describing the moon; looking back, swaying into the fragrance; not thinking about right and wrong, right and wrong, letting the past go with the wind, letting the thoughts sink into incense...
6, like to enjoy the quietness of a person's writing in the deep twilight; like to relax the tight nerves in the soothing music; like the sound of the sunset to bring a quiet feeling to the soul; like watching the movie of sadness, like to be alone Enjoy sad words, like all the stories about beauty, and like to use sad words to describe the loneliness of the night.
7, the book reads Yuanshan Qianliu Liu, the pen will carefully carve the years, this is the quatrain I have always remembered, in the world of the world, the book is still silent and sincere, like some proverbs: such as quiet Zhiyuan, indifferent to Mingzhi. Always tell yourself not to have too much annoyance, so you can think that you are strong, that stubborn and hopeless. I believe that being too tied in emotion is a complicated exchange.
8, time flies, slanting in front of the window, listening to this monsoon, feel the autumn as soon as possible, that is my favorite scene. The blue sky, when there are birds flying, can you bring my thoughts to your pillow? Who knows, the peach blossoms can't hide the bleakness in the smile, who is pitiful. The mourning of the first generation, the scent of the dusty and fragrant, can make my thoughts dripping.
9, gently stepping on the dead leaves under the feet, silently watching the city under the neon, suddenly felt that in his nephew, there are more emotions that should not have been originally? care? Not giving up?
10, youth is a bright sorrow, those cities that face the sky, those who wash away the face of the lead, in the gears of fate rolling, all fall, from now on, the people who pass by, each twirling in a different In destiny, each is in a different scar. When the train rumbling to crush our bright youth, there is no, sad, crying.
11. Strolling through the road of life, as a lonely one, we often go forward with an indifferent mentality, but we always know when we first met at the moment of separation. There are countless laughter and whispers, but when we wave The two lines of tears.
12, stroll through the red dust, laughing at the stories of those who have been in the middle of the year! Happy, sad, melancholy, helpless, desolate, like a film, constantly looping! Gradually, it seems that I realized something, but I was awakened by the damn cold wind, and I wrapped my coat in desperation. Under the faint yellow streetlight, I walked slowly!
13, the cold wind is slowly, the dead leaves are mottled, and the green frost in the corner has begun to rise up in white, how many past dreams like these infatuations, staged again and again in front of my eyes, and I am covered with injuries. The bumpy stone steps, the decaying wooden doors, the dilapidated alleys, maybe I still like the grass and trees here, the wind stopped raging, the moon was quietly spreading the cold clear light, I was kneeling in front of this dilapidated door. Holding the red leaves you like, I crawled in the withered red leaves and sang sad songs.
14, squatting in the eye is still a fuzzy tears, in the winter's depression, extremely desolate, cold, there is a kind of desire to stop thinking about smashing the heart, once again spread the palm, capture the streamer, my you, look far In the curtain of time and space, we will try our best to breathe the softness of the faint scent, slowly infiltrating the heart, and the all that grows is the moisturizing memory. It slips on the corners, wets the red dust, and a curtain of dreams is frozen. The tail of the deep winter is sad and lonely.
15. The hurricane is drunk and quiet, and whoever listens to it. The sly steps of the squatting down in the deep path of the ink, thinking of a small window smashing the old lights, sighing the sound of the empty building. In the Qingming, such as the weeping, in the damp mood, the strings of the memories are moved. I am quietly tasting the loneliness of the loneliness, and the mouth is cold and rising.
16, but I have not been sad, because a hidden person has come to me in a late autumn, his state of mind is exactly the same as mine, under the leisurely Nanshan, we meet unexpectedly, then, we become brothers, a cup The turbid wine is drunk in the mountains. It’s my own face, and I’m away from the bustling, guarding my own, plain, watery, smiling, and safe.
17, this situation is a lot of decisions, I do not sleep, in the cold moonlight, in the cold of the autumn wind, long sleeves floating, arching trembling body, looking up at the dark stars in the sky, if you are still, maybe I also Not living so painfully.
18, long years like a song without a name, but there are lingering thoughts in the song, endless lament. There are too many helpless words in the song to hide, but there will always be a day with the wind. Open the dusty memory, can your own young face on the title page be clearly identified? Perhaps the young face, even ourselves, has forgotten, so I didn't continue to turn down, and I slept with a sigh of swaying time.
19, capture the moment of life, the ultimate retention, after all, still slip away like a rabbit, in my thoughts of the image turned over and over. Fenghua is a kind of flowing sand, and it is a long time old. Then, my years, your years, in the blink of an eye, everything settles in the dream, sadness and sorrow.
20, a little bit of residual flowers with wet eyebrows, do not return to the Philippine butterfly, rouge tears, with flowers flying, empty a season of lotus. Summer is coming to the autumn, purple smoke contains smoke, maple red chrysanthemum yellow, thin acacia Liu; rain broken cold pond, more broken bridge. The water on the bluestone plate flows freely, and the oil paper umbrella smashes. Like the tie of yesterday, reluctant love, the film thoughts condensed in the heart of the eyebrows, scattered on every lonely night.
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