In the hustle and bustle of the three thousand red dust, I am like a falling flower, gently landing on the stage of time. My heart carries all kinds of feelings, and those emotions are like spring raindrops, nourishing my soul. I exude the fragrance of a hundred flowers, and the fragrance is like a melodious piano sound, wafting in every corner.
It is often said that the falling flowers are a poem floating in the wind, and each petal is leisurely scattered with the light breeze of the wind, as if the dancer is gently rotating and dancing gracefully. However, I couldn't bear to see it wither, and the sad feeling made me suffocate and lose my way to where I was.
In my eyes, the falling flowers seemed to be crying, and each petal carried endless sadness. They dance in the air, but they can't escape their fate. This grief left me heartbroken, as if I myself had lost my way in this sad world.
I often stand in front of the window, watching them drift leisurely, and an inexplicable sadness wells up in my heart. Those once bright petals are now pale and weak, as if telling the impermanence of life. I couldn't help myself, as if I was trapped in an endless spiral of sadness.
However, even when the flowers wither, their beauty is still breathtaking. Like a graceful dancer, they spin in the air, as if to teach us the true meaning of life: even if life is short, we must do our best to bloom our beauty and show our value to the fullest.
On the shore of the Moon Lake, the sunset at dusk is like a rich oil painting color, quietly filling the air with a charming atmosphere. Those gently withering flowers are like a melodious movement, and at the end of the song, people disperse, leaving only the figure staring into the distance. At that moment, the falling flowers became an unforgettable scene in my life, like a vast earth, drawing my thoughts to the endless distance.
I used flowers as my shirt and quietly admired the colorful scenery of Luoying, as if I was in a fairyland. The flowers swayed gently around me, exuding a faint fragrance that intoxicated me in this wonderful atmosphere. I would rather accompany the falling flowers to grow old here, and make this sea of flowers the most beautiful scenery in my life.
The dusk and sunset on the flower bank of Moon Lake made me feel the shortness and beauty of life. Although the fallen flowers are withered, they still bloom in their most beautiful brilliance at the last moment of their lives. This made me understand that although life is short, we should cherish every moment and let the flower of life bloom in our hearts with the most brilliant brilliance.
The ground is full of red, the cold riverside, and the moon is falling, as if it is a scene from another world. It was so far away, yet so clear, as if it were right in front of my eyes. I was immersed in this beauty, as if I was in a poetic painting.
Those falling flowers, although withered, but they bid farewell to this world in the most beautiful posture and become an eternal memory in my heart. I would like to dance with the falling flowers, feel the beauty and impermanence of life together, and let this moment become an eternal poem in my heart, like an elegant melody, echoing forever.
In the season of the return of the geese, when the frost falls, the flowers fall one by one, withering like dead leaves, and silent like residual lotuses. Time flies, like a song, but I am afraid of the passage of time, afraid of these fallen flower fragments. I looked far away, but I couldn't see through the endless vastness, only silence in the cold wind, flying with the ups and downs of life.
Those who used to be, those who used to be flowers, and those who were once beautiful have all become the clouds of the past. By the time my beloved returned, a few evenings had passed, and I was alone thinking about the soul of the fallen flowers. As the years go by, I can't stop thinking about you, I pray that these fallen flowers can rest in peace, and I hope that you can return soon.
Walking all over the red dust, crossing the cape, the thousand-year-old zither ripples with the wind. Like the water, it is difficult to resist the tranquility of the heart, referring to the incense and condensing ink, blooming like a flower. In the splendor, above the loneliness, the old heart is quiet at the snap of a finger. For the comfortable and gentle sleep of falling flowers, he wrote a song about the quiet of the years.
Now, the wind blows, but there is no trace, and the fallen flowers are quietly drifting away, silent. I truly love that indifferent heart, counting the reincarnations of past lives, and tossing and turning into this life. At the beginning of reincarnation, in the moonlight, the soul of the falling flower sings softly.