It's a long way to the end of the world, and each of us is safe.

The wind can't catch up with the footsteps of the clouds. Dandelion wanders in the wind, and winter steps on autumn's shoulder. I close my hands and pray silently: I only wish the end of the world is far away, and we are all safe.

—— Inscription

When I was away from home, I was sad for several times, and it was a long way to go, and each was well. One meter of sunshine passes through the cold barrier and projects colorful splendor. One day, like this meter of sunshine, we will break through the world of mortals and outline our own splendor. Before that, I love people, remember to take good care of yourself for me, don't be sad, don't be sad, meet again one day, and say with a smile: It's great, we are all fine.

When autumn comes, I can't wait for winter, because when winter comes, I can greet those I love openly, remember to wear more clothes, drink more hot water, eat more, and don't get sick ... Of course, I will also receive questions from my friends, some pages, some words, and whenever this happens, my nose will always be sour, and you will silently say: Look! This is what it feels like to be remembered. It's good.

The world of mortals is full of troubles, and it's not easy after several times. How many teenagers have lost sight of their faces, leaving only a vague curved mouth, smiling like a flower, pure and flawless. Turning around, smiling is still the same, but it is a bit more playful, ironic and cool. And those passers-by of life will tell you that you have changed and then turn around and go home. The real eternity in those lives will hold you lovingly and tell you to cry.

it's not me that has changed, but the harsh demands of the world on us.

mountains and rivers are silent, which is the tacit understanding of mountains and rivers, because there are some words that need not be said, and they will understand themselves. Habitat text, this is my home, find a piece of pure land, and become a world of its own. More people pay attention to words, but their hearts are getting empty. They will pursue some kind of praise and change their original intention step by step. Some people say that your writing is beautiful and lifeless. You have been entangled for a long time, even lost interest in writing and began to doubt yourself. So now I can proudly tell myself that it's because I have too little experience. Instead of pursuing what I can't achieve at present, why not be happy and seek peace of mind?

Sometimes we call each other inexplicably, and after the connection, we care about each other silently. Some people always lose patience after waiting for a few seconds. Some people always wait for the other party to hang up, look at the lost phone bill and yell at you. You are so stupid, but you have tears in your eyes. Deep down, we are all saplings, eager for sunshine and rain and dew, so don't be stingy with your care and warmth for those you care about.

When it comes to winter, most people always think of the word cold. Yes, it is because of cold that it is particularly easy to feel warm. Sometimes it is a ray of sunshine, sometimes it is a warm quilt, sometimes it is a cup of hot porridge, sometimes it is a greeting, and sometimes it is a person who can warm his heart when he looks at it. It's still a long time, and we can be together for a long, long time ... Don't get separated before that, because I have a bad memory, and I'm afraid I can't find it if I get separated.

I like snowy days, because a friend has never seen snow since childhood, and always asks me if the snow in the south of the Yangtze River is beautiful. I have seen a lot of things, and I always think that it is empty. At that time, my answer was that, I didn't feel much, and I felt her disappointment. Now I always take one or two photos to her every year when it snows. She always smiles at the flat scenery. I told her that I would take her to see the snow in my hometown when I have time. At that moment, I saw her eyebrows bright like an elf. Before that, I'll appreciate the dancing snowflake, the dancing spirit, for her.

when we say goodbye, we always say yes, and we often go back and forth. In reality, it is either too far away or the environment doesn't allow it. But we all know that there are so many people in the distance who are bound to care about each other. Distance can't stop the deep thoughts, and time can't cut off those fleeting years of wind and rain. I am always too lazy to bother to care about some things. Others always say that it is too stupid and simple. Looking back, it is also true. Now my life is simple, my thoughts are simple, and my looks are relatively simple, but I am so glad: I am happy because of simplicity.

The sunshine gradually rises, driving away the slight cold in this winter. I still close my clothes, because we agreed that I would be fine and not make myself sick. No matter how cold the weather is, there is always concern for each other. It's a long way to go, and we just want to be well.

At the end of time, keep a good time.

Some collections collected over the years are numerous and have been turned out recently. There are masterpieces from a small family, and there are masterpieces that are still popular. No matter whether they are humorous or free and easy, or they are alarming or sad, they are just what they like. In my spare time, I always feel that there is too much time to make people feel bored, but it can't resist the rush of time like running water. Inadvertently, it flows through my fingers.

The pages of Zhang Ailing's anthology are yellowed. I wonder if the head on the title page is her own, and her eyes look very bright. When I saw it, I took it out, put it on the bed and occasionally turned over a few pages. Words are always sad, and Leng Yan in old Shanghai is holding a resolute persistence and rendering full of loneliness. In those days, Hu Lancheng must have loved Zhang Ailing deeply. He must have been deeply pitied and deeply loved, and he must have thought that "I wish to win the hearts of one person, and the white head will not leave each other". If not, how can he write down the beautiful sentence "The years are quiet and the world is stable"? Zhang Ailing, once so proud and so clear, was always unable to resist a kind of knowing each other and understanding. How to be abrupt is no longer presumptuous in her eyes. She is willing to be a flower as low as dust, but Hu Lancheng's love for her has burned out in just a few years, and the flower has faded. At that time, it was not only an infatuation that faded, but also the shocking writing talent passed away. Only the so-called: love is gone, love is gone, and thinking is exhausted. Things have changed, and time flies. In just a few years, Lao Yan has gone their separate ways. Those who used to have a hard time crossing the sea will only end up waiting for change, but they are so sad!

I saw this signature at a friend's place the other day: "The years are quiet, how dare I grow old before you come!"! Words are so spiritual. When you see such words, don't think about their affectation. The words contain the most profane feelings. Whether it's a long talk or a few words, how much joy is hidden in it, how much sigh is hidden, and how much sadness is raised in my heart. Perhaps only people with a heart can understand a thing or two.

when I saw that signature, I saw a bright and quiet woman. It should be a rainy and colorful evening. She leans on the windowsill, wears a long skirt and has long hair, and quietly looks at the misty and misty distant mountains, with eyes flowing and looking forward to smoking. Perhaps the years have climbed to the corner of her eye, and perhaps there are a pair of spoony eyes looking back at the place where the wind and rain have stopped. Such a quiet space, such a heart-wrenching moment, that faint sigh, even if it is slight, has nowhere to hide. How many idiots and grievances does a sigh make? Who cares to pay for the fleeting time? "The wind blows the willows gradually, and the rain falls pink and scatters all over the world." Only by tapping the words, thousands of regrets are left: The years are quiet, and you still don't come, how dare I grow old!

who writes lightly about sadness?

who made words blossom in a fleeting time?

who lowered his head with tears in his eyes?

who sighs frequently when she dreams back at midnight?

this kind of scenery, this kind of people, this kind of writing, this kind of time, a different kind of charm!

tapping on the door of time is another year. What did we keep at the end of time? What did you get? Or have you lost something? Years have passed, and I have been searching outside my dreams. I have been entangled in the world for a long time, but my vision for the future has faded. It seems to be a numb feeling. Perhaps, in this complicated world, neither sadness nor joy is also an acquisition. However, the road has been extending under your feet. No matter whether it is smooth or bumpy, you must always walk through it, so that you will not waste your life! I only hope that the quiet years can always bring those beautiful things to every ferry in time, and I will never forget them by just looking back!

perhaps, there will always be a period of time, which is worth waiting in loneliness; There is always a scenery that is worth stopping to get drunk during the trip. In the quiet, count the years, watch the flowers fall, the wind blows Ye Er yellow, watch the snow dance at the end, and the plum blossoms push the branches several times. I look forward to the spring breeze and the green willows, and the geese return home. Keep a quiet time in the sunset sky!

Fingertips have passed, and only the ink remains

The player who played the game has left, who cares about scrutinizing a game of chess beyond the world of mortals?

-Inscription

The meteor streaked across the sky, leaving no trace except the brilliance of that moment, and then it fell into the unknown wilderness and declared its extinction. It was beautiful at that moment, but no matter how beautiful and gorgeous it is, it is just a passing cloud that everyone can't grasp. What's the use? Is it worth it to use everything it has to get this dazzling second that no one appreciates? I can't deny the courage of a meteor, just as I can't deny that the setting of the moon and the sinking of the stars are eternal laws. Maybe everything will have its own destiny, and it should have its own unique way and direction, so I can't understand other people's way of life, and what I want is just plain and true living.

A lifetime is too long and too far away. In such a bleak time, we always have to face many distant scenes, and then we will be corroded by the dirty gas of interests, and we will never find the original simplicity again. Life can't be measured by matter. In this world, just as Rolex is a material luxury, true feelings are a spiritual luxury, but life is so fragile that we can't afford so many luxuries. We can fantasize, but we can't expect too much. Those things that we regard as the most precious and admired will eventually come to nothing. The road we have to go through, looking at the flowers all over the ground, will we suddenly realize that those flowers covered by years, everything will be blank.

Jing M.Guo once said that all extravagant luxuries are like the harmonica sound in the dark in this bustling city, which can be felt, but can't be grasped. In fact, I think this sentence is very suitable for a person, a person who is far away from us-Genghis Khan. It is said that he is a hero, and I have to admit that he is a hero, but he is just a military hero. He only knows how to bow and shoot big eagles. He is just a walking corpse dominated by desire. I don't know if I can hear the endless screams in his dreams. I don't know if he has forgotten that the blood flowing in his body is also bright red. He thought he was brave enough to expand the territory of China to an unprecedented and unprecedented breadth, but he lived a normal life for a day. He was just a machine, a murderous machine. He is sad. Because he didn't get anything in the end, and in the end he just buried his life on the horse he used to be proud of. The years are long and the time flies, but it is just a few black words left on the white paper. What can we get from the fame and benefits we have pursued all our lives? All the achievements are attributed to future generations, who call them storytellers. It is better to live this life flatly and fully.

We have gone through four seasons, too much prosperity and glitz, and too much pessimism. Those luxuries we want by hook or by crook will run counter to us in the end. When the flood of years rolls over, they are just a little ink on white paper. What's the use? People who play chess have gone, who cares about scrutinizing a game of chess beyond the world of mortals? The glitz we strive for is just a bound net woven for ourselves, and the epic we want to write is just a touch of black left on the page. Only the ink remains when the paper is crossed.