Days, constantly reprint; And busy, always bring forth new ideas. I haven’t had time to sit by the window for a long time. Want to, today has a window, see flowing clouds float like water, then float away, birds fly joyfully over the treetops, dropping a hopping song, silent for a long time in winter, can you still hold on to it? I think I am a dormant vine with branches and tendrils crawling over my window. There is a stirring heart in the withered and mottled posture, full of awe and reverie for winter, and also full of thoughts and thoughts for you.. Guihong has already gone to the south, and no one has passed on chi su’s thoughts. the letterhead is filled with your broken words, falling quietly with a cloud full of tears and sadness of the season.. Stepping on your footsteps, following the sky you floated across, holding your poems and poems, smelling your lonely breath, listening to your sad songs in the heart, the sun silently disappeared in the clouds, rain, and began to quietly fall on my heart, wetting the way back. Sorrow lingers on the ferry of words. Can I borrow a small boat to shorten the distance between clouds and water and extend the attachment of clouds and water to each other? I don’t know what kind of meeting is called meeting. I don’t know what kind of warmth is called warmth? Only know that we met, no agreement, no hesitation, so met in the vast sea of people, did not leave. Careless, and happy – go – lucky. In their free time, they stop in each other’s words. Between trance, the heart has been attracted by some familiar things, a kind of stubbornness that resonates and beats the bones, and a kind of tacit understanding to communicate with strange hearts.. It is said that writing is for people who share the same soul. Although my writing is still shy and my thoughts are still shallow, you are seriously reading, reading plain poems and the people behind it.. Did you read me? Like light, like quiet, like narcissistic, like lonely and unhappy, also like to walk with words and music, like to live a thin, fresh and complicated life with dignity. I like the love I like, flowing between the lines, let my heart let it go, let it go up and down. Although, words, I can’t control; Music, I can’t master; However, with a clean heart, to touch, to listen, a kind of mood, moist, some thoughts, quietness. The internet, or Wen – net, always thinks that they are travelers here, and everyone is a traveler. Passer – by and passer – by, you have never been here, and I have gone from there. Even if there is an intersection, no one can stay for anyone after all.. Not used to parting, not willing to forget, knowing that it is an encounter, but also stubbornly thinking about meeting someone who is forever too emotional and easy to grieve, so I will stand still and snub myself.. Stop at the grand view garden, which is full of green and luxuriant flowers and fresh grass, but I am used to walking alone. dense words exude attractive fragrance, but how shy and cold my home is.! To me, writing is an unattainable confidant and a person’s unrequited love! My clumsy pen can’t write elegance, my despising thought can’t describe delicate and pretty painting, but I still like it, still absorb it constantly and won’t give up. Even if there is only one hoe and one crop, I will satisfy the pastoral life in my words and do not envy the aura of others.. Hobbies are my direction, interests are my capital, temperament is my destiny! So a person walked for a long time, for a long time. You, coming, fell into a cloud, tender and gentle, fluttered across my sky, leaving a faint foot mark on the paper and a deep look behind. I clearly remember the May when I looked at it in that season.! People, in not expecting, get a kind of true care, but in not blooming, get a kind of eager encouragement. Is this the voice of mountain water? Entering your lush home, you take cloud as ink and wind as pen, travel clear and clear beyond the mountains and write your feelings in the sky. In those days, friendship blossomed on your pen, clouds and smoke swirled on your paper, and snowflakes kept falling out of your window all winter.! I have never done anything for you. I am always so mean and selfish! I also wanted to write something for you, but I did not dare to write on your birthday or one evening, for fear that I could not read you, that I could not understand you, and that my pen violated this hard-won friendship.. Because cherish, so stingy! Reading the evening’s face gradually darkens, and the winter rain outside the window also has a gentle touch, which is the growing desire of human beings. I clearly see clouds drifting by, surrounded by a little warmth, which is beyond the reach of the sun.! Hold the window in the rain, turn a heart song into a drop of water, and deeply reflect the heart in the flowing water like silk and satin, and strike with the season.. Dream in the dim light, separate the rhyme, step through the level, carry a thin pen and dance lightly: Have your day, then warm up.