When spring comes, all the grass is trying to grow, burrowing out of the soil, trying to grow, flowers blooming, green trees, and the beauty of spring is a purple and red cloth.
In March, the joy in my heart is indescribable, only with my own clumsy pen, silently described, wrote a period of spring flowers, bound into a book, at a certain moment, read alone.
In March, my heart was not calm, but when the breath of spring came to my face, I pressed the pause button on the melancholy in my heart, and then smiled warmly.
Pretending not to see the sad side of the story, in fact, who can abandon that melancholy, only use words to interpret their unsatisfactory, often want to talk and rest.
In March, I am happy, no matter how confused the road ahead is, I will live in silence, live as I am, do not tend to be inflammatory, and treat things without humility or arrogance.
In March, I was happy, deep in my heart, planted a seed of hope, quietly waiting, maybe it will take root and sprout, maybe it will wither and wither, but the brightness of my heart will be completely accompanied after all.
In March, the spring breeze is ten miles, although accompanied by a shallow chill, I deeply understand that the truth of one year old and one withered glory is still a bloom in the spring breeze and rain.
In March, I was exhausted, writing with a plain pen, although the language was thin, but after all, it was the voice of my heart.
People are middle-aged, but they are still infatuated with words, thank you for visiting and reading, Xiaozhu looks forward to encouraging you.
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