Life is like smoke, indifferent to Ashes

(Mo Yan actually wrote the cigarette so Classic: Smoke fell in love with fingers, but fingers gave cigarettes to lips, cigarettes kissed lips, but Hearts gave lungs, the lungs thought they got the sincerity of cigarettes, but they didn’t know how to hurt themselves! It was the betrayal of fingers that made smoke sentimental, or the greed of lips that contributed to the sad life of lung like smoke. Ageless, smoke was sentimental, but only ashes were burned.) The years are passing quietly, and the once immature people are washed in the long river of life. Heart, in a day and a day, weave a thick net closely. The net is a memory that you don’t want to give up; The net can’t be used, it is the love that has been treated well and the heart that has definitely left. When, who became whose memory? Who is the short story in whose life? Is it the beginning? Is it the end? It was a gorgeous and dazzling meteor, which had not occupied any distance in his life. Maybe, one day in a certain year, the familiar person saw the photos of the past and smiled and said to him today, this is your story! Yes, now it seems that the memory so cherished in that year is only one of the stories that are strung up in life. Just like a yellow poetry collection, open an article. No matter how beautiful the text is, it is just a small story that has been discarded in the corner and picked up at some time, it is in the accumulated sun and moon that tea cups are occasionally picked up, tasting the sporadic memories flashing in my mind when bitter. When autumn comes quietly, it will leave quietly. In the autumn wind and autumn rain all night, a colorful dream was dancing lightly. In the dream, tens of millions of golden butterflies flew down from trees, covered the grass lightly and beautifully, hugging the streets. When I woke up from my dream, I found myself in a beautiful fairyland. The Blue Sky is a beautiful shadow of trees. Every huangcancan of leaves are dancing brightly in the sunshine. Under the feet, there are only yellow colorful butterflies, which are continuous and cover the whole vision. A gust of autumn wind blew, butterfly turned around luxuriously, dancing gently again, with golden beauty. Once again, I remembered my love at such a moment of shock and envy. Is that love without the end of the play like such a beautiful scenery? How can I treasure my memory? Just like how to freeze the beauty around here. Autumn flows away in the time like daily and flowing water, and the following can only be another winter day. Even if I miss the colorful beauty of autumn leaves, even if I take countless photos with my mobile phone, I can only become the accumulation in my memory corner. The next autumn, the next fallen leaves are in succession, and the next intoxicating tears are just a new beginning. Everything is folded and folded in time. One day, one day, one day, one day, one day, one day, one day, one day, one day, one day, one day, one day, one day, one day, one day, one day, one day, one day, one day, one day, one day, one day, one day, one day, one day, one day, one day, one day, one day, one day, one day, let the former beauty shine like fallen leaves once in your hands, and then fall fragile and break the ground.

Zan (prose editor: Jiangnan wind) Phoenix Mountain Spring Tour

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