The north wind is covered with frost at the intersection of time. Who is it, carefully walking past the thin ice surface. I am deeply afraid that I will hurt the veins of the old days and thus awaken my vulnerable longing. Time is speechless, but something is always dissipating.

The north wind is covered with frost at the intersection of time. Who is it, carefully walking past the thin ice surface. I am deeply afraid that I will hurt the veins of the old days and thus awaken my vulnerable longing.

Years are speechless, but they are always dissipating something. Looking at the days taken away by time, I still had no choice but to accept all the things left over from time.

Maybe the price of maturity is to be lonely and let down youth, settle down emotions, and stabilize life.

I remember the first encounter, and there is no distance between the two ends of the world. Looking at the passing years, I unknowingly walked into the poems that were clear and clear.

The possession and loss of life is so hasty and silent, and it passes by many things, a passerby that cannot be kept in a hurry, a past that was imprisoned in the fireworks of the world, and a brilliant and deep affectionate that was frozen in the old days.

Who disturbed the wind in the wilderness when the flowers bloomed, and who used the stories of his previous life to enter the dream of this life. Time is trivial and difficult to resist the cycle of the four seasons. How many people and things have been buried in the wind and smoke of time? The gradually cold winds such as

fill the ravines of time. The colorful rings of the years can never hide the vast sea of ​​time, nor can they take away the mulberry fields of time.

In the traces left by the years, through the gaps of time, memories can be vaguely visible, and nostalgia can be clearly perceived.

The beauty of time always blooms in an instant. Sorrow and joy, panic and peace, separation and thoughts are all gifts of regret and tenderness of the years.

Missing is as leisurely as snow, covering so much sadness in the cold night. Although he was silent, he had already melted in his heart.

Night is long and quiet. Like a firework that is about to rest in the passing years, slowly burning the thoughts that are invisible.

More or less loneliness makes people laugh no longer purely and cry completely.

Sometimes the language always seems so pale, and silence may be the most perfect interpretation. Let those free thoughts grow alone, like a cold moon in the night sky, just blooming lonely...