QQ space diary

Article 1: Holding a pen in the left hand and writing love in the right hand

For whom is the sadness between the eyebrows condensed, for whom is the melancholy in the eyes crying, and for whom is the care in the bottom of my heart persistent?

I write in my left hand, but I can't draw a blueprint for happiness; I wrote love in my right hand, but I couldn't start writing. It turned out that everything ended without results. There is no beginning and no ending, just like a passer-by in life. After meeting, you turn left and I turn right, and then I run counter to happiness. From then on, there is no intersection.

Spring flowers are blooming, summer nights are starry, autumn moon is bright, and winter snow is cold and secluded. After stepping through the changes of four seasons, I can't jump out of the troubles of love. The endless sadness has passed, and there are endless distractions. Is the fate endless, or is the heart still there?

a sip of fragrant hot coffee has no endless aftertaste as expected, but it is a mixture of five flavors in life, bitter and self-contained, sweet and fleeting, and then endless regrets and losses. Before the tea is cold, people are scattered, and night is still young's heart is cold, lonely as dusk, and lonely and confused in the heavy fog. Swinging with the wind, there seems to be no choice but to drift. By the way, where is the way, and where should I follow?

The flowers on the other side, which bloom for a thousand years, fall for a thousand years, bloom and fall, and the leaves grow without flowers, are called the other side, but they can only be across the bank forever, endless waiting, endless loneliness, and loneliness all their lives! Sometimes, persistence is also a kind of injury. The promises made and the debts owed are all just a dream. When the dream comes to an end, people are scattered, while some people are wandering in the same place, burying their youth!

a rain, wet all night, gaunt two people's hearts, you can't sleep, I can't sleep, dripping little by little, sad until dawn. A person looks forward to the dawn of spring in the winter night. When the cold wind of dawn blows into a ray of bright morning light, is it hope? Maybe it's just the beginning of disappointment, because the sunset glow will take away the last sunset glow. Cycle after cycle, day after day, one day, I finally found out that I have been drawing circles of different sizes, circles with no beginning and no end, and those limited non-circular circles are called life trajectories!

suddenly, I feel that life is so thin, as if there are only large and small circles left, such as the rings of years. And a few memories have faded away in the wind and frost, leaving behind an incomplete broken walls that will never be pieced together.

My heart is higher than the sky, but my life is doomed. I can't cut it, and I can't climb the mountains. Let me face happiness far away! Smear the brush in your hand, but you can't hook up tomorrow's journey. Light a lamp, but you can't drive away the heavy haze.

writing with your left hand and writing love with your right hand may be doomed to be a beautiful mistake!

Chapter 2: Acacia is endless, just because the moon hangs high on the night of the month

. Reading the poems that poets have sung about the moon for thousands of years, such as drinking a glass of wine, I am drunk. The door of memory was left unlocked, and I walked in with a little drunkenness to regain the past. In the four seasons of life, how many people have come, gone, gathered and dispersed; How many times, the moon is full, missing, missing, last contact. Moonlight, like water, accompanied by a zither, flows through mountains and canyons, moistening the dried-up heart. Fold a beam of moonlight, weave the wings of acacia, and fly in the sky of memory.

On a moonlit night in spring, an acacia tree is flourishing and in full bloom. Who are the teenagers waiting for under the tree? The moon is slanting to the west, lengthening the waiting figure, but no one comes at last. The breeze blows, bending the moonlight and blowing off the petals on the ground. Who picked up the petals and buried them under the tree and named them "Love Tomb"?

Teenagers' love is full of innocence, and finally it is too green and fruitless, and the petals fall, which is the teenager's broken heart; Years have changed, and only the moon has left a pure collection in the deepest part of memory. Whenever the moon rises, it reminds me of the flowering tree and the love grave under it. Has a beautiful girl ever been under a tree and picked up a broken heart? And a moment that ought to have lasted for ever, has come and gone before I knew!

The moonlight is the most beautiful in summer, "the moonlight blooms on a cool day in the evening"; In the vast sea of people, looking for the other half of life, the beauty in the moonlight dress is dressed in Chinese clothes, but when looking back, it has disappeared in the dim light. An encounter at a small bridge and flowing water is doomed to miss this life. There is still a warm fragrance at the fingertips, but in a blink of an eye, my heart is far away. On the moonlit night, I send you a message of lovesickness, and say to myself, "I hope people will live for a long time, and they will be beautiful for thousands of miles."

The moonlight washes away the impetuousness of the world and illuminates the way home for the true feelings. Those who are far away are safe! What has passed is content! Experienced, no regrets! Late autumn night, the moonlight gently sprinkled in the besieged city of life, warm and romantic; The beautiful scenery outside the city is also dotted with moonlight, which is fascinating; When you step into the besieged city, don't be sentimental, lean on the moonlight, with warmth, life is still beautiful. Once met outside the city, folded into memories, written blessings, buried in the depths of the moonlight, when the moon is full, occasionally think of it, just as a beautiful memory, send acacia from afar.

"Where to synthesize sorrow, autumn leaves people's hearts", don't treat parting as wine, and drink all the sorrow and worry; Life is in autumn, and this feeling is indifferent. In the middle of the night, I enjoy tea alone and listen to Zheng music.

at this time, it is winter night; The moon has climbed the mountain ridge in the east, and the cold wind can't freeze the flowing moonlight, nor can it freeze my emotional stream. The moon is still bright, and it was once the moon. I am not the one I used to be. I pulled back the lovesickness released by moonlight, put it back into the depths of my memory, and carefully sealed it. Perhaps in the next moonlit night, I have no intention to open it, but an acacia guzheng music haunts my ears, teaching me to look down on life and laugh at the world of mortals.

Thanks to the bright moon, I miss you endlessly, just because of you.

chapter 3: thinking with my father

once upon a time, I often fantasized about you, the youthful appearance. At that time, you had the care of your parents and your sisters and brothers. Have the infinite fun of playing in youth. At that time, I was so naive and had the sweetest smile in my life. At that time, you should have a moist complexion, firm skin, no wrinkles and warm and thick palms. However, our arrival has disrupted the pace of your life.

You are like that green meadow, which brings us a paradise of laughter. You are like the most primitive plain boiled water, which moistens our lives; You are like the gentle breeze and drizzle that fills our growing journey. If, if time can be forgotten, then at least you should not forget your selfless dedication, in my life, in my life, dotted with such beautiful and strange days and nights.

If, if time can be forgotten, how can I be grateful? At such a splendid age of life, how can I understand and repay your efforts? If time is a silent weapon, I want to, I want to smile with you, cry with you and make noise with you in the journey that can seize your life, because of happiness.

Once a year, the birthday is a special day. However, we are always stingy with our emotional expression, especially to our loved ones. I am an emotional seeker, but I forgot to answer. Let the years erode your face and portray deep lines.

Father, thank you for being so indulgent and caring for me, and thank you for always forgiving me as a daughter, this long and willful. There is a saying in the poem: parents are here and don't travel far. As a restless and noisy person, I can't control my dream of going far away and visiting mountains and rivers. However, I came back after all, because the years are evergreen and people will grow old. Because I'm afraid, I'm afraid of the pain of my son wanting to raise and not being close, because I'm afraid of the old man dying.

father, I want to tell you? -Now, my palm is big! I can also be your arm. Since time has prevented me from walking through your youth, please let me accompany you through your twilight years.

Chapter 4: Let the poetry of the drifting snow live in my heart.

When I enter my hometown after a long separation, the south of my Yangtze River is already covered with white snow ...

This snowy fog sprays misty shadows, making up this snowy land in the south of the Yangtze River. This snowflake dances in the soft cold wind, and the snow smoke on the pond surface in the distance gradually rises, intertwined with the smoke from the kitchen, and the rural cottages of thousands of hectares are wrapped in white.

Set foot on the land of my hometown, gently hold you in my arms, shake a branch of snow in my hometown, and let the soft snow hit my face. In this cold and snowy time, quietly listen to the birds singing in the tree nest and singing winter songs; Listen to an ensemble in the cold wind and snow field, weave the poetry of snowflakes into acacia, listen to the music of soft snow falling to the ground, listen to the lingering fine snow, and dance with flying catkins, so that snowflakes are frivolous in the eyebrows and full of affection in Jiangnan. The snow is thick and charming in the south of the Yangtze River, and it is full of poetry in the cold winter.

This snow in the south of the Yangtze River quietly carries a story and is filled with poetic rhyme. Snowflakes dance with longing and float gently across the Waipo Bridge. The old osmanthus tree in front of my house is white, full of a touch of snowy winter rhyme, floating overhead, so beautiful, so white, lingering like a dream, and gradually ... charming the once green paddy field, lush. Flour snow in succession, dense pine branches swaying in the snow shadow, this snowflake is amorous and gradually scattered, and the memory of love is swaying in the air. In the cold winter, I love you deeply, feel the elegant affection of snowflake, and listen to Cher's talk in the cold wind. The snowflake is thick and swaying in the sky, just like a group of fairies who come down to earth, putting a thin layer of white gauze on the empty countryside, farmhouse and village. This Cher is full of condensation and thick. I gradually embraced the greenhouse, and the whiteness of the film gradually stretched acacia. Standing in the snow, my ears still sang ...

Holding a snowflake in my hand, the warmth gradually melted and warmed my mood. I can't wait to see the tenderness of the white snow in the south of the Yangtze River. The snowflakes are filled with the aroma of wintersweet, which drifts for thousands of miles. This plum tree is wrapped in snow and stands in poetry in the cold winter, and the poetic feelings of flowers and snow are gradually swaying into a fluttering tidbit. This love drifts in the snowy winter, listening to the cold wind singing, and letting the snow poetry flow in the south of the Yangtze River in winter and into the blood of children. Let the poetry of snow melt into my heart.

Walking in the romance of snowing, let your thoughts flow, cut a section of edelweiss in the cold lovesickness, and let the boundless snow scene decorate the charming south of the Yangtze River, and the snowflakes flutter over time. Gently knead a handful of snow flowers at your fingertips, let your thoughts melt, and hide your thoughts in the snow-filled Waipoqiao; Embrace a bosom of acacia dancing in the snow, holding you walking, talking and laughing ....., let the flying snowflakes splash ink into a pure white silk painting, and integrate the smile of Jiangnan into the original painting; Smell the fragrance of a cold plum, walk in the snow, weave the missing petals into the path of snow, and the pale yellow petals are gradually soft in the snow.

I am walking in the snow scene emotionally. In the distance, the mountains are covered with white, and the small town is wrapped in Jing Ya. Shops, shops, pubs, photo studios and paths are coming and going. A burst of soft snow has soaked the antique small town, and the leisurely lake light is silvery white. This notice is clustered into pieces. In this dream, I look for her for thousands of Baidu, and the lovers are hugging each other in that soft snow, as warm as oranges. Stop on the snowy road, accompanied by Mei Er, watch a feast of dancing snowflakes, let the emotional cotton snow dye the white temples, stop the memory, let the snowflakes quietly bloom in the south of the Yangtze River, and the wintersweet is blooming brightly.

On this night, the north wind was rustling and the snow was all over the window sill. The pink in the hut was soft and soft, which melted the snow and boiled it. Under the soothing music of infatuation, I made a pot of cappuccino and let the incense of coffee fill the hut. That night, the cold wind started again, and the snow was all over the sky, gently whitening the sky, making this cold and snowy night, and the yard in front of my house was covered with velvet snow; That night, I looked at the thick snowflakes outside the window, and I made great efforts on the shore, turning the snow scene in the south of the Yangtze River into a picture scroll, so that the poetry of drifting snow could live in my heart.

Chapter 5: There is always an excuse to bury my dream

"My dream is ……"!

I know I once had a dream. From the first time I stood on the podium in the primary school classroom, I emphasized his existence in my heart on numerous occasions! It was not until later that I began to show off countless dreams, and I completely lost my dreams.

I was lying on the bed, staring blankly at the chandelier on the ceiling, and the pale halo spiraled round and round. The indifferent light and shadow stung my eyes for a long time at a casual moment, and the moment was blurred, so I could clearly see the dirty hidden inside for a long time! The long-lost fragility rotates, folds, interlaces, twists and turns with the diffused aperture on the ceiling, tearing up all the strength and gnawing away all the camouflage.

I just graduated from college, and my work is not satisfactory, killing my passionate passion a little. It seems that only by violating the present life can you really understand life. Life is everything you can think of, and all your metaphors are always right. Because life is too strong, the strongest is always too lazy to refute you, or even let you decorate it. In the end, a person can only end up with his own words and sentences full of interest. I excused myself from the ink marks that dropped inadvertently or inadvertently between my pen and ink, and denied my dream of laughing at the sea and glaring at the wild.

Who ever dreamed of it? If you want to make a good sentence, you will lose your touch with a bald pen, shake your wrist and spill your juice! Ten years of prosperous old dreams have degenerated into a long sigh between the eyebrows overnight, while stubborn lips still endlessly deny the lonely fact, and the smile of eight teeth has moved to outline the so-called indifference! And suddenly I will be silent or even in tears in a quiet moment!

Everyone's life has such a hard shell, which resists, maintains, keeps dreams or hides sadness. Carve the scenery at the front desk with vicissitudes or filth. We may have never deceived others, but one person is pulling a lie and weaving many excuses to deceive himself.

everyone's life is undeniable, but we have to argue irrationally. We have endless reasons, we have endless excuses, and we can even walk away at any time. Those excuses for self-deception, those excuses, are like cigarettes between my left hands, burning with all my strength, burning all our anxiety of deceiving ourselves! We have all set up dreams, and finally we are swallowed up by life a little bit between our impossibility or necessity, but we never seem to be at fault. We always insist in our statements and never give up. The reason why we don't work hard is because we don't have time or opportunity or something else. Anyway, we always have legitimate reasons to tell our helplessness and to piece together a "moving" story to move our inaction. We always have enough excuses to pay homage to those dreams that died under our "helplessness"! Writing here, I seem to feel that I have understood a lot of truth and am preparing to be glad that I have lost my way. However, the ferocious words on the screen suddenly and mercilessly tore up what little pride I had left. It turned out that I was trying to enlarge my weakness to everyone and trying to convince myself that "taking it for granted" should be reasonable.

maybe, I was wrong from the beginning. Maybe it is enough to have a dream and put it in your heart. Maybe if you want to succeed, just work hard! The light overhead is still on, repetitive, monotonous, dull but so vivid, just as we were young.