Sad prose related to years?

The baptism of years will eventually precipitate true beauty, and we never stop on the road of waiting and expecting. I hope what I bring you below will be useful to you.

Article 1: a heart, slow cooking years.

Author: Spring blossoms.

The word "years", some lingering, some quiet, full of all my joys and sorrows. The smell of those hands often reminds me of myself who was easily moved.

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Every day, I meet happily, better myself and better you. My heart is a city, with fallen leaves, a bunch of flowers, and those years and months. A smile that meets by chance and the warmth when guiding all the way are all flowers that bloom in nature and are deeply rooted in the heart.

With a lotus-like heart, I painted my initial feelings. At the moment we met, I saw the compassion of the years. Not all smiles can be exchanged for respect and hugs in the secluded path. I cherish those memories that belong to me, whether happy or sad, I don't want to forget them. Time is a beautiful flower. If I can keep my joy and peace of mind in my heart, even if my heart is full of flowers, there is still a smile in my eyes. This is the time to give me the most beautiful makeup.

I have always believed that there are memories in the years, and I will record the deep feelings along the way, such as the meeting of flowers that year, and your bright eyes decorated my pure memories. I always feel that there will be a cycle of time, and we will meet in the long journey and arrive at the end. If we can meet again at the next intersection, can you and I still smile and remember?

Some memories don't need to be hidden, and they are there without increasing or decreasing. Is there a moment, a song or a passage that suddenly touches your soul and makes your heart instantly soft? Is there a moment when you stand on a street corner and see people passing by, and your heart is extremely lonely? Perhaps, everyone has a story in their hearts. Every parting is separated by a past, the lights are dim, and the thoughts and thoughts have been affectionate.

Writing clearly and writing chapters is also a kind of floating life in the season when lotus flowers are in full bloom, Do not forget your initiative mind. What a wonderful dream I once wrote when I was young! Just like Bai Yueguang's wiping in front of the window, with regret lingering, as long as you look back gently, you can catch a glimpse of beauty.

I always like to see the distance in the sun, and I am greedy for the bright colors. It seems that my hand holds the years, holding the years that have gone away. Those beautiful scenery, such as Bai Yueguang in front of the window, will always be in our hearts, no matter how time changes, just like the poem we liked many years ago. On the hill full of gardenias, we can meet a person who is destined to be clear. The years when words are superimposed into poems and adopted are like an old book with broken lines, but we are still moved by the stories in the book.

Those lost scenery will be remembered in life forever. If life is like the first time, knowing how to cherish fate, will there be less missed sadness? When I was a child, I thought that the future road was full of flowers, until one day, the deep and shallow corners turned into light and calm compassion, leaving only that sentence, the most beautiful thing is not rainy days, but the eaves that shelter from the rain together.

I long for years to be a poem, and the rhyme of the poem is the ivy strung by the raindrops under the eaves, which nourishes life in every quiet evening. Not everyone is destined for you, we just need to remember the warmth of passing by.

If time is a song, it is also a shallow song, with a lingering sound, and every note is a swan song, without a copy; If time is a poem, it will turn over a thousand times, it will be fluent and rhyme. Every character is a dialogue from the depths of the soul. If time is a painting, with proper shades and emphasis on blank space, every description is a deep love for life.

Time is long, recording the height of the mountains along the way. Once, we all stubbornly outlined an outline for our lives, and then, no matter the wind and rain, we never sighed. Suddenly one day, we found that we have been watching each other, but we have achieved the deepest loneliness in our hearts. In fact, years have never wronged us, but sometimes, we paint our land as a prison and imprison our progress with our hearts.

In life, don't let your heart be confused at any time. If you don't want to be a burden, you should learn to look at all the complexities simply. If you don't want to entangle, you should see all the noise clearly, write indifference on your face and happiness on your brow. In this way, simple and quiet years will be full of flowers and poetic green cages.

Mu Xin said that time and tide wait for no man, and I never spare time. When we were young, we enjoyed our time to the fullest, which was pure and beautiful, like flowers on blue and white porcelain, and meaningful; Although middle-aged people are quiet and love cotton-padded clothes, some things are no longer so persistent, but their love for life has never diminished; If one day you are old, the green hills have not changed, but the sideburns are gray.

Time is an endless journey, and life has endless scenery. Along the way, setbacks come and go. There may be tears, but they will be put away. No matter how much wind and rain, the moss on the rocks is still dark green and quiet, and the flowers on the roadside are still swaying in the breeze, not opening or dying for anyone. The baptism of years will eventually precipitate true beauty, and we never stop on the road of waiting and expecting.

Look at the world with a pair of clear eyes and feel romance with a clean heart, and you will find that Chai Fei with a small mouth is also poetic, and it will be given sunshine when it is desolate. If the heart can be close to the heart, Yi Deng will be warm. Where the years pass, there is always happiness growing.

If life is a book, I hope it is a picturesque, rich plot, full of words, flowers bloom in one season, mountains and streams are clear and pure, and autumn leaves fall quietly. Although full of freehand brushwork, but very simple, mountains are mountains, water is water.

There should also be poetry between the lines. There is no need to be gorgeous in the smooth charm, but you should know how to leave blank. The brushwork is sentimental, free and elegant, and the silver bowl is filled with snow, but the flowers are not surprised. In this way, when I am old, I will sit in the dusk light and read carefully and shallowly, and I will not waste my life. I live a serious life.

I often think that if one day, I am tired of the life of clothes and horses, I will find a small town with flowers and birds, just a porridge and a meal, and I am indifferent to foreign affairs. At that time, I was still the woman who didn't have time to smile, and you were still the one who was willing to accompany me to see the flowers, hiding a proper one in my heart and savoring the years in last romance.

That gentle time and mood, as Xiao Chan described, has twilight in words and youth in heart. In my heart, there are already eighty or ninety flowers.

Chapter 2: Time is like sand, and years are like dust.

Time flies, time goes by, and time takes away the most precious part of life. That's called youth.

When I gave my seat to the children on the bus for the third time, all the children raised innocent smiles and said to me, thank you, uncle. I was too shocked to speak. The word "uncle" has always been my address to others. I don't want to be on me one day, and it's so overwhelming. Maybe I have to admit, I'm really not young anymore.

In this early winter season, the leaves scattered with the wind are scattered all over the floor, and some fall in front of us and in the palms that are inadvertently raised. This leaf is still full of autumn colors, and you can clearly see the veins left by the season, which seems to hide its life. The context is intertwined, and the years have built the backbone of the context. Youth is a branch of the vein trunk, and together with * * * constitutes the life imprint of this autumn leaf.

Time is ruthless, and I am always a little unwilling to admit that my youth is gone. There are always some sufferings, and I can't bear to put an end to my youth. There is always a little reluctance to leave like a fleeting time.

However, no matter how reluctant I am, how unbearable and how unwilling I am, years still leave a silent mark on me all the time, whether it is my body or my memory.

This mark fills people's hearts with sadness, very light, very light. .............................................................................................................................................................

Time is helpless, and the past years are gradually blurred. Blurred, not because the figure of the past is drifting away, but because it draws a curtain of smoke and rain in the world of youth, blurring the eyes and not seeing the present clearly. Only when the past is printed in memory can it be clearer. Only the future is more certain in expectation, like the vein of autumn leaves. To be clear, we must first look at it.

Time is unprofitable, and life is a process from unaccustomed to accustomed.

I don't know when I started. I stopped being sentimental about pain and gradually consciously bandaged some wounds. Tears have already washed away the depression in my heart. There is no embarrassment that I don't want to say, no unspeakable sadness, so I should put it down and forget it. Even if I can't remember her original appearance, even if you and I are separated by a horizon and a cape, I still wish you well.

I don't know when, no longer at a loss. No longer wandering on the road, watching the passing vehicles, on the track of life, there is an inexplicable conformity. Steady steps, firm eyes, know where the destination ahead is. Go when it is time to go, and stop when it is time to stop. Dispel the haze all over the sky, where are you, no longer haggard. If you get through the darkness, you will be enlightened.

I don't know when it is no longer easy to show sadness. Know how to collect worries and emotions. There is no truth behind loneliness, loneliness that no one understands, and sadness that no one cares about. There is no loneliness that no one appreciates. Facing the time limit, smile indifferently. Lingering melancholy, shrinking face, faint loneliness, exiled. Cry when you should, and laugh when you should. Sad mood, such as autumn wind blowing, leaves falling.

In the river of time, time is like sand in the palm of your hand, which is irretrievably lost and difficult to grasp. Time is like a grain of dust, drifting without leaving a trace, making people unable to find it.

Time flies and I lost my old friend. The past years, unforgettable past events, once upon a time, flowed quietly like a river at dusk. Those shadows, those fresh faces, inadvertently looking back, suddenly found that they had disappeared. I don't know how many people remember me or how many people remember me. I just want to say to those who died in heaven in their prime: Youth is over, please take care all the way.

The years of weak crown have settled in the past. In the face of years of erosion, I seem to know a lot. All thoughts are scattered into thousands of pieces, stuck in memory and exiled in the horizon. Put those fleeting feelings into silence, in the faint, in the wind and rain, looking at the night sky, knocking on memories. Buried in the secular sky, the past events that I don't want to mention vanish and silently endure the invasion of years. I don't know if this is right. I just want to forget the past and let it go.

Time is like sand, who is infected with whose sadness.

Looking at a piece of slightly sad text, listening to the story of empathy. Whose road to friendship is full of contradictions, whose road to knowledge is difficult and dangerous, whose road to love is tortuous and bumpy, whose road to survival is struggling, and whose life and death are sad. I read other people's stories and infected my own mood. If you have no feelings in your heart, then why is there sadness?

Years are like dust, who took away whose footprints.

The most beautiful thing is sunset red, sunset, which slowly falls in the sky with a red sunset glow, and the afterglow falls on the earth, gradually pulling the shadow longer and longer, and then the longer and longer shadow gradually fades away, until after sunset, this shadow will disappear, and it is unclear whether it is integrated into the earth or into the night, just as it is unclear where the years flow and when it will end. I can't tell whether the years took me or I took the years.

Winter has come to the south of China. Time, wait for me ... time, I'm here!

Article 3: Time flies, who is pale and who is waiting.

Perhaps, time is too thin, fingers are too wide, take away a ray of moonlight, salvage sadness, pain to tears, let alone vicissitudes of life. Drunken flower yin, heartbroken person; Golden melody, who and * * *? Missing is an unspeakable pain in my heart. ......

Then I raised my hand. It was already late autumn.

Light a cigarette, light powder, walk in the mottled years, stroll through the cloister of time, listen to the inner voice, draw countless landscapes with a piece of light ink, cut out chapters and sentences, and carve off memories.

Time flies, and some memories, like a blank word, flicker between waking and sleeping. There must be something in the palm print of time to remember. The thread of the fleeting time is faintly visible. Close your eyes, that's your smile that will never fade. The lingering fragrance is full of colorful dreams where water wears dust.

Emotion is fleeting time. Years are pale waiting, and the precipitated thoughts are gradually lush in the misty clouds. Accustomed to thinking of you in the morning bell and dusk drum, I outline the past with the gesture of ink painting, thinking and singing tactfully; Ten thousand feelings, who knows the local conditions and customs?

I know that you are the most beautiful meeting in my life, even if it is just a passing by. The front edge is an oath in Sanskrit, twisting a heart fragrance, touching an inch of tenderness, listening to a sad song, telling a xiaoxiang song, and trading my heart for yours. Only in this way can we know each other and remember each other deeply.

In fact, I really want to be with you and watch the running water; In fact, I really want to hold your hand and be gentle and crazy all my life. Flowers bloom everywhere, tender as water, measuring the distance from season to season with a simple heart, whispering from the heart with a pious charm, listening and thinking in the long flute rhyme, looking back with a slender hand, is more than a smile?

Perhaps, the time is too thin and the fingers are too wide. In this world, too many people can read romance, but too many people can't get out of the vicissitudes of life. When all the lingering turns into a wisp of smoke and tears at your fingertips, you can't bear to part. Is it love or sigh? Time is endless, and those that bloom, fly and disappear have become the past; Those who are absolutely indifferent and miserable are the taste of life. Looking back over the years, some things don't need to be picked up, they are already in my heart; Some people don't need memories, but they can't get rid of them. ......

The world of mortals is too shallow, the lovesickness is too deep, and the sea is bitter. I can't bear to see Qian Fan's fatigue. ......

Perhaps, a casual smile will be a brilliant waiting for a lifetime; Perhaps, a casual look back will haunt a lifetime of heartache. The wind came and the sound rang; Fate, together, a flower and a world, a leaf and a bodhi, whose story is pale and waiting? Whose mood is thin and fleeting? Goodbye, never see again; Look at each other and forget each other.

In life, there must be at least one desperate love. The wind passes, the clouds pass, and the pen falls. Even if the ink drops into the wound, how can you miss it? Love is very short, as short as one shoulder, but infatuation is very long, so long that we often have to pay the end of our souls. In this life, I have walked out of your world, but I can't get out of the thoughts you left me.

Pick a ray of moonlight, salvage sadness, pain to tears, not to mention vicissitudes of life, too many possibilities are impossible, too many possibilities are once. In life, how many encounters will soften the years and surprise them? If water passes through the dust, only a little coolness is left in the wind. ......

Thin shadow disappears, the soul remains the same, folding words and cooking wine, who will talk to for a while? A Sanskrit sound turns a thousand times in pain. Drunken flower yin, heartbroken person; Golden melody, who and * * *?

Missing is an unspeakable pain in my heart. ......

Time flies, who is waiting pale?