I just suddenly thought of those children with sadness written all over their faces.
At the beginning, we are singing; at the end, we are walking. Who tore the veil of youth and let us sing alone in the hot summer. Those figures surging in the afternoon are noisy in the sweat.
.Our eardrums are trembling crazily in the irritability of the night. Those sad little wiltings and those heart-piercing shouts are constantly hitting our fragile nerves. Who is wandering on that boundless path? We
Walking and singing blindly, from the beginning to the end.
There is no more roar of the Beatles, no more sad voice, no more simple and heavy singing of Hackberry... In the lonely night, I just sit quietly under the dim light, waving my already sore hands.
Should I be happy or sad? Finally, I can face life calmly and bear the heavy load without complaint. There are no tears in my eyes, and my sad eyes have long been reflected in the luster of reality.
Obscure and sore eyes always bring me too much melancholy. But my heart has long been numb, like fallen leaves swaying in the autumn wind.
Autumn has already put away her desolate steps, I just haven't waited for a fallen leaf. The sky under the sunset is as shiny as fish scales. I don't long for spring-like weather all year round, but this autumn, I can't face the white
I have no tears to melt the snowflakes anymore. Those weird and strange elves, I just watch them flying in the wind. I want to stretch out my hands, but I am afraid that they will shed tears in my warm palms.
Life has long been relieved in my eyes. Those flowers that grew wildly in the dark night have already withered in any corner. Sunlight begins to fill every corner, and the colorful world unfolds like a painting, extending to the depths of the soul. "Dark night"
He gave me black eyes, but I used them to find light." I wonder if using these words at this time can bury the decadence and loss I once had. Those dark red petals lie on the loess like corpses, accumulating
The blood turns into spring mud.
The sadness is not there, I am waiting, waiting for the arrival of that bright June. When the mountain flowers are romantic, she is laughing from them. My flower, are you ready? My youth, have you turned into that bright light?