Fleeting time is still the same, you and I are no longer

Tears have come to an end, after all, it is still a farewell, perhaps our story, should have been in a month of lack of night, thrown in the place where no one cares, no longer to recall the gorgeous loneliness, but it stayed in the center of the full moon, burning lonely again and again.

Inscription

Looking back countless times, just want to gently, gently place a flower in the memory, open the fleeting story, you are in it, I am on the road. With hazy eyes, describe the purples of time, those brilliant poignant beauty, is the euphemism of flowers, the expectation of dreams.

Once upon a time, you and I had the most beautiful time, with a plain pure, recording the circulation of the pointer. The wind chimes hanging in front of the window, accompanied by the breeze, gently shake. The sound of Ding Dong, accompanied by the sound of rain, is concerned about you.

I remember that in that season, you said to me seriously: if you are well, it will be sunny! In that season, the corners of whose mouth often raise emotional notes, and now, the tip of whose brow is covered with cold sorrow.

Along the traces of the years, I heard the sound of a broken dream, but I can no longer pick it up, I can only let myself enjoy this loneliness again, this fragmentary, this loneliness.

It is said that no one is right or wrong in love. I was just thinking, once chasing the future, why those who held hands, heard songs, opened their hearts, and finally did not even have a clue, that kind of emotion, what is wrong?

Unconsciously, the air also began to be filled with sentimental breath, the pointer did not know how many reincarnation, gently with traces of parting, wandering in the mind without thoughts, those who have been busy, can only slowly disappear in the affectionate fingertips.

I know that our story does not belong to mythical elegance, it contains too much taste of pain, all the simplicity will be mercilessly discarded, leaving the worry of depression, polished by reality beyond recognition. Even if I don't want to, but I have to accept it passively, how do you know how much bitterness and helplessness are left behind me?

Perhaps all the past events in the fleeting years, or dusty, or collected, will become the most beautiful memories after many years, so I often shed tears silently, wet my eyes, wet my pillow and wet my heart in the dead of night.

Those beautiful memories, always so luxurious, with indescribable numbness, like moths to the fire. A touch of sadness crosses the edge of melancholy and grows and spreads secretly in my heart through the space of every crevice.

I don't know when I began to get used to loneliness. Even if you have spare time, good things always have a doomed ending. Even if the past is like a song, in the traces of time wasted, there are still few words in the scenery. Like that sentence, know a lot of truth, but still do not have a good life.

Gradually, the lack of color in my life, the lack of flowers, let those residual dreams, those residual thoughts to fill my heart, so, I will learn to forget and continue to recall the dividing line, constantly at a loss, and finally lost themselves, can no longer stand the insipid years of cooking day after day.

In such a time, looking at the people hurrying past on the road, you are moving, I am moving, at the same time, hazy with the lonely vicissitudes of starry night, no one stops. I can only say that fleeting time is still the same, still reincarnating its process, you and I are no longer, no longer meet the figure of the dream.

(I have dreamed of that figure countless times, but it turns out that that figure does not belong to me.)

Author: the Dream of Liu Sham