It is an ancient and winding river, a river almost forgotten by time. The clear river water spreads and flows silently on the ancient land. It flows through the lush years, and flows through the despair and helplessness.
Wound……
And I once wanted to keep walking along its fertile veins in a lonely manner... No matter there are thousands of rocks and ravines ahead of it, or it is just a circulation with no beginning and no end.
, regardless of whether he will eventually merge into the boundless world...
I was thinking about my encounter with the world. Compared with his ancient memory, eighteen years of time would be so elusive. I imagined his former prosperity and arrogance. In his radiant life,
In his years, there will be no lack of flattery from the flute and drum tower boats, nor will there be a shortage of tourists and wandering chanters. He was abandoned in the memory of the ruined walls, alone bearing the whistling passing by his ears.
The wind of history and the imprint of time passing through the changing memory.
But when the curtain of my eighteenth birthday was about to open, I suddenly doubted whether I had really walked past him. I longed to be submerged in the bizarre city, walking dejectedly and gasping for breath. I wondered if I
I really forgot about his story from prosperity to decline.
I don’t know why even the grass is unwilling to stop by his side. Maybe they are just pursuing prosperity like me, but have forgotten the collapse and decline behind prosperity. We all want to be gorgeous, but we can’t keep her, no matter what.
She just passed away quietly and was annihilated...
I don't know how long the river has been choked. Who is willing to endure these ruthless changes carried by the years, and who doesn't feel sad for yesterday in front of the dim face.
Just grow old like this.
When the trajectory of youth gradually blurs, I think of those veins that extend alone on the earth. I want to go on like this, following the palm lines of fate towards the endless distance, until the place where darkness blooms.
I am just a child with no future. I cannot remain unchanged like this river, guarding my immortal soul for thousands of years. In hope, I keep wavering. I think I am just a little tree.
Damn it, but this will make me even more inexplicably sad.
I am powerless to change myself, just like this ancient river cannot choose its own future. I cannot imagine how many old wounds that cannot be erased and how many tears are hidden in his desolate eyes.
However, in that brief flash flood, in that unbridled peak, the river seemed to be freed. Even if it happened once in a hundred years, it was a glimmer of hope for him to survive, letting him understand that his body was not dead, and his soul was not dead.
It has not been extinguished yet. The rolling blood has only been temporarily sealed, but has been inadvertently covered up by the dusty years...
I imagined his occasional loss and his desolation.
However, I know that he is not desperate. Even if the river bed is so dry that it is cracked, he will not despair.
I was tossing and turning in pain, with a faint pain in my fingertips. When the flowers of memory slowly settled down like that, I could never calm down. I couldn't bear everything silently like them, the changes of the seasons, the watching of the seasons,
The hope of prosperity...
I ran beside him like a deserter. Those bright days just kept kicking through the mark of my life, and they could never come back. I always opened my palms and let the tiny sunshine pass through.
My fingers stung my eyes. I began to look up at the sky frequently, longing for those flowing days to appear in my life again, accompanied by those floating clouds, carrying my endless thoughts. I couldn't imagine those flying flowers.
The days of dancing have just settled down in my life and come to an end. I can't believe that those people who have appeared in my life but never appeared again, and time will eventually remove them from my life.
Erase from memory.
The clear river water began to become turbid. Maybe he had lost his way like me. Where is the end of the river? If he knew, why would he have to go away for thousands of years and never return? Even he couldn't figure it out.
How to find paradise.
I imagine that my footprints are filled with his ups and downs. In my endless footsteps are his flowers that have blossomed and fallen.
The cool river water still flows silently. Let your hands no longer wake up in this biting river water, and numbly caress the joy and sorrow of the past.
The river is deteriorating day by day, letting everything pass silently across the sky of memory, looking up blankly to save the irreversible degradation.
And I am destined to go on in such a lonely posture. In the distant footsteps of youth, in the tearful eyes, I watch it die lonely and never wake up...