All the rivers in the wilderness of my life have been silted up, some have dried up, some have become chaotic, some have stagnated into depressed lakes.
There is only a clear river flowing ......
From morning to dusk, from flowers to leaves, melting snowy dreams, and then to the roots of grass, to my heart.
Every day, on the edge of a dream.
Every day, the sails of longing are raised.
1. Sprouting.
When I said goodbye to my childhood and walked towards a girl, I began to dream of water.
In spring, by the stream, on the way to school, the winter cotton clothes began to be unable to wrap the feelings of the first bloom, and I felt hungry and thirsty for the water, running, and plucked the cool into my mouth, and the crimson of the cheeks was reflected in the water.
Suddenly, I want to see someone, but I'm afraid to see someone. The person you want to see is the person you are afraid to see.
That figure, like a flower, was brilliant in my heart.
The voice, like a string of wind chimes, swayed in the wind.
If you can't see it, you always want to see it; When I saw it, I was flustered.
Later, I learned that water is the sprout of love.
Flowers will bloom when they meet spring.
2. Lapse.
Zi Zaichuan said: "The deceased is like a husband, reluctant to give up day and night." ”
Life is like water, love is like water, clear, tranquil and flowing.
Standing on the bank of the river, the river is coming, silent, endless.
The white sail sailed over, passing in front of ......Gone far ......Out of sight; The fish swam over, stirring up the ripples of the water ......Er ......And I got into the bosom of the water, and the bubbles shattered, along with my heart.
And just like that, the water slipped out of my hands and slipped off my fingertips. It leaves marks and wet stains on my hands, and it takes a long time to evaporate or dry.
Yes, it slipped out of my hand, but it left a mark on my heart.
Everything will pass.
What will pass will be the helplessness of the flower, and since it has fallen, let's start dreaming of drifting.
3. Ferries.
No one's crossing, like a river, is contemplative.
The soul melts into the water and begins a new wait.
There is a beautiful woman, on the water side.
There is no more romantic waiting in the world than looking at each other across the shore; And the most beautiful regret in the world should be the miss on the ferry, in the alternation of ferries, each other saw each other's faces.
Everything is like a dream. Missed, perhaps forever longed.
Sitting by the river, counting the ripples in the water, the smell of grass and earth smelled the "Book of Songs".
Looking up at the sky, I suddenly found that the sky was also like a river, and it had also separated the eternal love.
Suddenly relieved: I came here maybe not to cross the river. The ferry port may not exist either.
All the rivers in the wilderness of my life have been silted up, some have dried up, some have become chaotic, some have stagnated into depressed lakes.
There is only a clear river flowing ......
Too much love and hatred are carried by the river in this wordlessness, and silence is often chewing and sifting through the past. Some of them sink to the bottom of the river with the sediment, and some of them flow away with the river.
In short, nothing will be repeated. Whether it's gone, melted, or missed, the river still flows quietly.