Good words and sentences of camphor tree

The world we see-Cinnamomum camphora is flowing green. The sunshine becomes transparent in the afternoon, and the wind blows everywhere it can reach. A busy signal came from the bus stop not far away. People who fall asleep because of drowsiness cast trembling shadows, and there are cobwebs in the corner. There is a gentle and comfortable rhythm in the air that seems to stop at this point forever, so there is no need to consider what direction it will evolve in the future.

The world we see, if we don't have time, if we don't reach the speed of derailment, if we don't burn it out, will eventually float in the air like a falling soot, like nothing ... Then, maybe it will always carry the bitter fragrance of camphor trees and stay in this place closest to summer with a perfect cross section.

What is the story of Cinnamomum camphora and Cinnamomum camphora? Someone was whispering in the cracks looking up and looking down.

So everything becomes very subtle. Warm eyes and wet palms.

In those summer when the sky is in full bloom, the sunshine has the most prosperous jointing.

She ran past him in a hurry, so the floating grass blossomed;

He waited quietly behind her, so the sunset closed the heavy door;

He and he became more and more silent in the four seasons, the past dusk and the morning that didn't come.

In summer, she and she walk more and more slowly, and the pulled hand holds the hand that has not been pulled.

Some melodies have never been sung, and some torches have never been lit.

But there is sound and light in this world.

So time became heavy and small, and the snowstorm easily broke the thin door.

That city has never aged, it stands in memory and becomes the loneliness and loneliness left by no one at school in the evening.

Camphor trees cover all the sky in the city from beginning to end.

There is a confession ten years late in the shadow.

If you forget something, if you are willing to remember it.

If the fragrance and heat of summer can still stir the time when you are sleeping in it.

If the thick shade of Cinnamomum camphora still can't resist the sun's red-hot and hot eyelids.

If those lonely skies are not completely out of your dreams when you are young.

therefore ...

Cinnamomum camphora in the school will become particularly prosperous every summer.

Shadows in the sun will always seep into the window like thick ink. Fu Xiaosi remembers that he and Lu Zhiang fell asleep in the shade and spent a seemingly endless summer.

The red light and hot air on the eyelids have not dissipated.

Most of the time, Fu Xiaosi thinks that he and Lu Zhiang are like two naughty boys living alone in Asakawa, laughing silently, then crying affectedly, and living noisily day after day. For so many years, he thought he was used to wandering around the city with Lu Zhiang, looking at countless beautiful MM, looking at countless strange bus stops, following countless strange Panshan highways and then heading for more unknown worlds. Those lush Cinnamomum camphora grow into the witness of victory day by day in the annual rings. He and Lu Zhiang grew from thirteen to nineteen. Those days when it rains and comes back are really memories. Fu Xiaosi sometimes looks at photos, and when he looks at them, he gets lost in thought.

Their hair is getting shorter and their clothes are old and new. They stood on the ground and cried. The big sun in this city still rises every day. Stretch and shorten their shadows.

In this way, the years rumbled through one life after another.

Long summer just stopped and walked back and forth in Asakawa to see how those tall camphor trees covered the city one by one, hiding the time and wasting the whole morning.

Those tall Cinnamomum camphora, like the colors repeatedly depicted in dreams since childhood, are full of vague and soft light in their eyes.

Chang Xia thinks Asakawa has no summer solstice. No matter how high the sun rises, no matter how hot white light it scatters, half of the city will always gently hide in the dark green shadow of Cinnamomum camphora, isolated from the world, and breathe safely with eyes closed.

The sidewalk. Stairs Roof, roof. Overbridges leading to everywhere. A playground surrounded by walls.

Half immersed in the dark green shadow of camphor trees, with the smell of wet summer.

There is a strong summer fragrance in the air.

Outside the window is camphor that has been dyed green all summer.

When the tide rushes to the ancient river bank, summer connects with the next summer,

What do you like?

Heavy rain swept through the village in the hot sun, and the next summer was flooded.

What do you like?

Skip the green spring, the sad autumn honeysuckle and the greener summer next year.

You appeared in front of me again. Eyebrows droop. Turn around and take away the rain from the whole city,

Then turn around and bring back the colorful snow. The thunder of wheat jointing rumbled through the earth.

You splashed ink on the broken words in the corner, so you rendered a summer without ups and downs.

Come next year. Next year. But I haven't waited for a crying summer solstice. A summer solstice that never comes all year round.

Avoid round-trip search.

He has never seen her.

She has never seen him.

No one has seen it. Never been here in summer solstice. The world began to rain cats and dogs. The flood season is coming.

Unconsciously, the weather began to get cold.

When I get up and run in the morning, I will occasionally go back to the dormitory, put on an extra coat, and then go downstairs to gather.

Boys who are used to playing basketball for half an hour after breakfast and before morning self-study occasionally feel that wearing a vest in the morning is not enough to resist the cold-although the sun is still shining at noon.

The tree is still green.

These dense shade trees have no seasons. But there are fewer birds and insects in the forest. So the whole school became quieter and quieter. The cicadas that had been quarrelling all summer finally disappeared.

The light cut off the sharp corners, leaving behind a dull and vague sense of light. Slightly roast people's backs.

then ...

Time flooded the instep along the trace of autumn, the tide surged, and the so-called youth was submerged by another centimeter. The birds have already flown away, and the camphor trees in the school are getting quieter and quieter, so there is a loud noise when the leaves fall.

Autumn is already deep.

In fact, he knows this company very well. Growing up, when he was angry, he just kept silent, deadpan, a pair of white eyes without focus, calmly reading and drawing, or lying in bed looking at the ceiling with headphones for two or three hours. And now he is like this. Standing motionless in front of the apartment, like a morning tree. what kind of tree is it? Lu Zhiang squinted and thought. At this time, he should have worried about whether the small company was happy or sad, but he thought about what kind of tree he was for no reason. Maybe it's kapok, it's quiet, maybe it's magnolia with incomparable fragrance, or it's Cinnamomum camphora that doesn't wither all year round overhead.

Time turns into a red morning mist, and day and night are gradually divided equally.

I started my lonely years in a world you have long forgotten, with my eyes closed and my ears covered.

Cheering with tears,

Not seeing you means not seeing the whole world.

Darkness engulfed tens of billions of planets like the tide. Sunflowers are dying on a large scale. Migratory birds were sent to the funeral in droves.

One by one, there is no heavy voyage in sight.

Who waved with a straight face and then isolated from the world.

What is silent is your disappointment. And your pale side face.

In fact, the world will never wake up. It sleeps quietly under the collar of your shirt.

In the blink of an eye. The beard instantly pierced the skin. Youth holds high the banner of hunting the wind.

So you grew up and became the crowned king.

But I am at a loss to think that you are still a pale little prince.

They say that as long as there is a little prince in the world, there will always be foxes waiting for love.

When the swallows come back with green in their hands in the coming year,

Do you still bow your head under the camphor tree like a seventeen-year-old summer?

And then come to see me,

In that long, psychedelic, endless summer.

The world shines when it breaks out,

Shining once faint youth and years apart from each other.

Iris gradually climbed up all the hillsides and watched the arrival of Black Poetry.

Those poems that are circulated sing legends, and those who sing legends in legends,

Those people have nurtured countless journeys in countless eyes.

Mixed with youth and happy past, unknown origin, unknown origin,

Only at the ceremony of returning home from the years, wizards draw bright colors.

Gold paint and silver powder.

So the once dumb years gave birth to whistling arrows in the forest.

The once gloomy clothes instantly glow with crescent-like white light,

You are young, handsome, silent and kind. After many years, you are seventeen again.

18 years old pure white,

Once lonely, become no longer lonely.

This world is a happy playground in your hands, and no one can close it except you.

So the sky is gorgeous and reeds linger,

You appear at the fork in the road, with Zhang Mingliang's face and white hair.

Like the summer when the solstice was lost many years ago.

Those flowers recorded by clouds,

Those clouds decorated with flowers,

In this endless long summer, it has become a dry season in the wilderness.

Zebras and antelopes migrate between groups of sand dunes,

The silent floating grass that jointing on the water every year,

All the lives that left were marked with bright red by the last season's Phoenix Flower.

Ten years later, we met in the vast sea of people.

Who said that, the people who left, the things left behind,

Come back one day,

Go the way you used to go,

Sing the songs I used to sing,

Love the person you once loved,

But I can't bear to hate anymore.

Those legends travel around the world, dressed in sunset clouds like the proudest heroes.

The dark god who leads people through tragedy,

Died on the dry river bed before the next rainy season.

Reed burned to ashes and spread to the blue sky.

Hot sun and heavy rain. Tall and silent camphor.