At dusk, the city is like a ship carved by the years, carrying countless footsteps that hurry home. They walk through every street and alley of the city, like migratory birds looking for a home, and the hustle and bustle on the road, like the chirping of cicadas in summer, gradually fall silent as twilight falls.
In this twilight picture, the hurried steps of the people and the city are intertwined into a vivid picture. They walked the streets and alleys at a hurry, their faces full of exhaustion and longing to return home. And the city, as if turned into a huge magnetic field, attracted these returnees, allowing them to find a warm harbor in the twilight.
The afterglow of the setting sun is like a loving mother, caressing the city with her gentle hands. The street lamps on the street are like pearls, illuminating the way homecoming. And those lights that have not yet been extinguished seem to be waiting for the arrival of the returnees, illuminating the road ahead for them.
The sunset is like a beautiful picture, dyeing the sky a golden red. It gently sprinkled on the bodies of each returnee, bringing them endless warmth and comfort. In this gentle sunset, the Gui people found their way home, and their hearts were filled with endless hope and expectation.
I love twilight, it is like a gentle woman, accompanied me on my way home, and also accompanied by relaxed and leisurely clouds. In my memory, the smoky scene hovered on the path of my hometown, the old eaves, and the silent courtyard all quietly reunited in my retrospective eyes, and seemed to loom in the twilight.
The beauty of dusk, like a lyric poem, uses its color and light to paint a beautiful and quiet picture. The golden light sprinkled on every corner, so warm, so peaceful. The clouds float leisurely in the sky, like fairies in an ink painting, graceful and colorful, with thousands of postures.
The old eaves have witnessed my growth and changes. Every tile is full of traces of history, and every inch of land contains the taste of hometown. And that quiet courtyard is a haven for my soul. Every tree seems to whisper to me, and every flower opens for me.
In the twilight, I seemed to return to that familiar and distant time. Everything is quietly changing, but it seems to be eternal.
On the stage of the four seasons, time flies, and prosperity and loneliness are intertwined. Like an unfinished symphony, each note carries triviality and complexity, making us forget our years in the cycle of years, and also making us miss many beautiful encounters in our busyness.
The years are like flowing, and the dusk is picturesque. Those who are quietly slowing down, what are they looking for in the picture scroll of dusk?Is it the lost youth, or the beauty that was missed?And those who are busy, what kind of dreams are they chasing?
As the twilight wore on, I wandered through the bustling streets, past the bustling markets, and through the silent narrow alleys. My footsteps seemed to match the rhythm of the city, like a poem, flowing between fast and slow.
If the morning is the prelude to life, then the dusk is the rest of the years. It comes hand in hand with long leisure, as warm and serene as the afterglow of the setting sun. It goes with the rush of busyness, like a home after a long day's travel, making people feel deeply peaceful and satisfied. 100 help plan