Beautiful Writing: Whose Years Flow Like Wine?
In the cycle of the four seasons, time weaves different landscapes. On the road of passing time, life writes of (unresolved) melancholy, quiet joy, and deep-seated, shallow feelings, meticulously recorded drop by drop. The dust of time blurs the past, and the vicissitudes of the red dust change our appearances. Talent is like a fleeting finger, old age is a period of time. In this lifetime's encounters, we write down each mutual understanding, in the relentless flow of time, we forge a deep love.
Time flows like a sandglass, binding our footsteps; fate is like a wind, scattering all pride. Gazing back, none of us have a smooth past. Time gradually fades and becomes mottled within the flow of time. Amidst the bustling red dust, tears flow freely, in the years of reflection, there is some fondness, some melancholy, always untold sadness of time. A fleeting prosperity cannot express the melancholy of the night, accumulating into ruins, longing into sorrow.
Has anyone ever left a faint smile at the turning of a gaze, warmed someone's years? Has anyone ever waited at that ancient ferry, waiting for someone to fulfill the promises made in old years? Has anyone ever walked along the red dust roads, in the most moving postures, frolicking in the world, writing a tranquil and serene melody in the song-like years? Half a city shrouded in mist, a courtyard full of fallen flowers, in the corners of seasonal changes, quiet and shallow days exude a gentle fragrance.
Time has passed, time is getting cooler, has it aged someone's appearance? Plain brush and blue porcelain, one night of prosperity completely falls, on the road of unyielding sorrow. In the deep purple and secluded realm, whose longing has crossed the flowing river and long grown into a boundless river? In the years, it has settled into sorrow, in the light and shadow, it has become mottled and ancient.
All encounters in the world are reunions after a long separation, all joys and sorrows are unfulfilled feelings by the bank of the Bewitched River. If you meet, don't ask if it's a calamity or destiny; if you meet in the red dust, please treat each other gently. After many years, in the river of memory, it will be the most beautiful warmth that once was.
Walking in the red dust and purple realm, footprints will sink into the sediments of time, all past events look back at a distance, only the beautiful remains. When we were young, we didn't know what happiness was, those times have become unforgettable. Growing up, happiness is a taste, a memory, a realization. In a simple heart like a jade pendant, a cup of tea's time spills over with happiness. As long as the heart becomes simple, happiness is always there.
Perhaps we should all have some infatuation, always believing that there will be love in this world, like a well-aged vintage wine, it will only become more fragrant with the passage of time; always believing that there will be destiny in this world, crossing the sea of people, even if they are far apart, they will eventually meet. Life cannot be forever like the first sight, but under the wear and tear of quiet lives and the erosion of the storms of the world, two people can still accompany each other, this affection will be more profound and heavier.
Walking in the red dust of fireworks, fine sunlight falls on shallow dreams. A person wanders in the rhythm of the seasons, years lengthen the quiet days. I like slender days, using a bouquet of flowers to decorate the brightness of the morning, a piece of music can also pour out the desolate afternoon. If the heart is like a lotus, it blooms at our fingertips.
Choose a city, love a cloud, in the depths of time, place your heart securely. In the shallow and deep imprint of years, in the simple bookmarks, write a line of heartfelt words, mark the passage of time.
In fact, life has no more luxurious years to share with anyone. We have not yet reached the age of only holding memories to spend the days. But the years do pass quickly, just like now, I suddenly smelled the faint fragrance of morning flowers, but the window is already approaching dusk, closing my eyes, I also smelled the taste of evening sunlight. I haven't looked at the sky like this for a long time, when I was young, I liked the dazzling rainbow of the evening sky, weaving one dream after another.
