Time and place of April in the world Small Garden Scenery Trail The drizzle is sprinkled in front of the flowers. My parents and relatives asked for the topic to be self-made, and their own style was

Time and place of April in the world Small Garden Scenery Trail The drizzle is sprinkled in front of the flowers. My parents and relatives asked for the topic to be self-made, and their own style was determined. weather

I am a weather-sensitive person.

I like sunny days. Sunlight passing through the glass can give people a bright feeling. The air is clear, mixed with the smell of salty sea. I will lie prone on the windowsill and look at the clouds in the sky, imagining whether it is like a rabbit or a flying horse. Look at the people coming and going downstairs, and see the sun shining on their fleeting faces. You can watch it for an hour and laugh unconsciously. A simple and transparent smile like a baby reflects the clear blue of the sky.

Sometimes, I will loose my hair, wear a wide sweater, wear cold wooden slippers barefoot, and stumble downstairs. Listen to the sweet voice echoed in the empty corridor, crisp and as fresh as floating hair. The sweater is big and has neat stripes. Red, black and white are my favorite colors. It's very old and a little fuzzy, but I still wear it often. Because it smells like me. Generally, I just walk around the lawn and let the newly sprouted grass scurry between my toes. The mood is jumping. If I have time, I will run to the seaside alone. The sunshine is warm and comfortable. Winter in the south is warm. I heard that it is rare to see the blue sky in Beijing all year round. I wonder if it is true. Anyway, I think I am lucky. Because overhead is a harsh blue.

Then I will run home and write down in my diary:

Weather: Warm Happiness

Such an impressionable person. Often inexplicably moved by a cloud, a gust of wind, a color and a piece of music. I find that my emotions are sometimes capricious. Like the weather, it is flickering, sunny and rainy.

I think it's because my mother's blood is flowing in my body.

Those yellowed photos are sandwiched in old photo albums. Big eyes, shallow dimples, sweet smile. That is a calm and docile girl. But I know that young people have an undercurrent of passion and an unruly soul. I think my mother was once beautiful. It's just that the young years passed away like the wind, stroking my cheeks, touching my temples and touching every place in my heart. What is left is nothing but the traces of vicissitudes. Beauty is also short-lived, like epiphyllum, which only blooms in the thick night and blooms all the fragrance. At dawn, she withered, telling her once charm with her defeated petals.

Mother is a moody person. She often gets angry for no reason. Angry hysterically. I'm afraid, afraid of this storm without warning. On that New Year's Eve, the dishes fell to the ground and made a broken sound, and the door was shut heavily, like a pale lightning across the quiet night sky. I think some things are just not easy to forget. When my parents quarreled, I was used to being like air. I don't know what I can do except silence. I've been powerless.

but sometimes she is as happy as a child. I like the way she smiles. Shallow dimples, sweet smile. White teeth. At that moment, my heart was soft. She is still beautiful. I think I love her so much, but I have never told her.

since I was a child, I was a child with poor language. Do not know how to say love. Maybe I have too much, so I become numb. Often a person thinks, thinks something that he knows he won't say, and says it many times in his heart, but finally drowns them in his heart. Sometimes I write them down, just a piece of paper, or just a page in my book. Just write it down and tell yourself what you want to say. I want to fill a blank in my memory with these unprovoked words. I remember when I was six years old, I sent my mother my first card on her birthday. I told her how much I hated her sometimes. But I know that I love her so much. Love and hate sometimes have no boundaries. Time has blurred their boundaries. Perhaps because of love, so helpless; Because of helplessness, I am numb and indifferent.

So life actually leaves no trace.

"There are no traces of wings in the sky, but I have already flown."

I wonder, what is eternal? There is no answer.

on rainy days, my heart is wet.

on a quiet night, I was awakened by the sound of the fine rain. Without clothes on, I stood at the window watching the dark night outside and watching the raindrops swaying in the wind. And then inexplicably disappointed. Raindrops are so fragile and ambiguous, like transparent roses, blooming in wet swamps. Sink and disappear. This strange spirit, so easily, and then leave, in addition to falling, it has no direction. I suddenly found my cheeks wet. Put a little tear on your lips and it tastes like rain. With a touch of bitterness.

rainy days make me feel lonely. I think it will be lonely, because there is no sun. So it will cry quietly.

Some people say that it is easiest to miss when you are lonely. When I am alone, I like to play soft and sentimental songs. Wieniawski's violin concerto is often played. The deep melody and calm tone, like a smooth satin, gently glides through the most fragile and soft part of my heart. When I tried to grab it hard, it sang away in an instant and disappeared. I will immerse my heart in these gloomy melodies. Let the tears flow freely. Pure tears have no feelings. It can completely wash away the haze in my heart.

Then I will open my diary and write down:

Weather: Lonely eyes and tears

Words are like raindrops, fragile and ambiguous. With shallow sadness, sprinkled in my diary. I like Anne Baby's words. Like a beautiful swamp, I can't extricate myself from it, and it hurts gently. Fate and impermanence, love and death, farewell and vagrancy. Decadent and beautiful words reveal colorful and full colors under the background of threats. That's the writing on a rainy day. That is lonely writing.

I believe in fate.

Because I believe that life is unpredictable and elusive. It's something as weird as the weather without warning. Inevitable, but willing.

Annie said that by chance, you fell in love with a man when you saw his lips. He has a strange mark on his lip corner. You can recognize it. You look at him, and you are surrounded by exhaust gas and dust in the street where people are constantly crossing. When he passed you, he was only 2 cm away from you. But he passed. You don't know where he is going. I will never see him again in my life.

a friend said that the chance of people passing by is one in hundreds of millions.

I think it was 5 times to look back in the past life, only to get a pass in this life.

Sometimes a person sitting on a rock and watching the sun fall into the sea will feel deja vu. I think, maybe I was thousands of years ago, and I used to watch the constant sunset at hundreds of dusk.

some encounters are powerless.

I met an unknown stranger in an unknown place. You looked at him, but you didn't speak. Then you parted and haven't seen each other since. But remember him. Remember him calmly. Like a distant and ancient legend. Just like the cloud in the sky, thousands of years ago, it hung in a certain sky and you saw it; Thousands of years later, it appeared in your sky again, and when you saw it again, you were inexplicably moved.

so I don't like to open an umbrella. I believe all the rain comes from the ancient country. Know that every drop of rain has its own story. I want to find in these raindrops, find my own past, those vague memories.

However, we also know that some separation is also powerless.

In front of the store, I saw that ordinary sweater. It's common and cheap. At first sight, I didn't feel touched, just wondering if I would like it. Then I walked past it without touching it or even looking at it. Just walk by quietly without making any stop. After walking through countless shops and touching countless clothes, I found that I still remember it. I thought I could forget. But you can't. So I started running back like crazy, and I thought I must find it. When I stood in front of it again, I felt more panic than I had ever felt before. I know I'm about to lose it. Because it's not what it looked like when I first saw it.

it's getting dark. I didn't turn on the light. The computer screen is like a vast expanse of white snow after Yuan Ye. I burst into tears at my own words.

There seems to be some wind, so I got up and put on a dress. Turn on the stereo, stand by the window and watch God paint the sky.

gray, gray and black.

is god smearing his feelings?

I can't help thinking.