A spring day as bright as the years, wandering poetically. The green branches are as bright as the sun; the flying catkins are floating freely, extremely soothing and extremely grand, flowing in the same direction. The pure and clear air showed unprecedented clarity and clarity, and the whole world suddenly turned into an ocean. The floating catkins were bubbles rising lightly in the water, or countless plankton - just like the most comfortable mood wrapped in the saddest undercurrent, allowing it to surge silently. Perhaps the slightest tremor is the sadness that I have been unable to calm down.
The breeze, carrying the joyful yearning for spring, sails to the other side of time, taking away nothing, leaving nothing behind, maybe bringing something beyond everything. The words of love are spread everywhere in this season with the creeping air, accompanied by the melodious guitar playing in the distance. Lend me a pen, maybe this is where my heart belongs. Just by chance, capture scattered sentences. The mentor of the soul and the philosopher of life seemed to be not far away. I could hear his footsteps approaching slowly. The ship of life cannot be without the mast of thought, sailing across millions of years, carrying us to that uncertain future. Under the hustle and bustle, stay longer for the original yearning of your heart.
That person, that mountain, that water, everything that never existed. When all the tiny dust disappears in the sunlight, falls softly to the ground, how I long for time to stop here, in this most peaceful moment in the world. The dim candlelight was born to shine only in the dark, but it is so happy - the mysterious, subtle and poetic night is its exclusive angel. Can you stop me and take me, with candlelight and darkness, to a paradise I have never set foot on? Can you shout "How are you? I'm fine" to the snow-capped mountains in the distance? Fuji among the cherry blossoms will not answer, nor will the Alps, which prides itself on its majesty, remain silent. The final answer will inevitably become a helpless self-mockery. Human helplessness, intertwined with the sadness of hiding in the city, actually became the comfort of the soul at this moment.
Time to calm down and look at your feet. Bend down to pick up the long-lost simple and green dreams, find new breaking points in the numbness, and then dust them off as thin as cicada wings but clearly discernible dust, tell me, the world is in front of you. I looked back and turned around, catching a glimpse of my journey that was mixed with some unbearable regrets, in order to escape the unforeseeable future ahead.
I, a poor poet, may never be able to reach those profound souls. I can only let my arrogant pen tip slide out on the trajectory it wants. Those sanctimonious words have long gone away from me, and I have long been tired of those seemingly gorgeous bodies. Let this clear spring run wild until it dries up and becomes motionless.
Looking up at the world again, the re-constructed pure person is revealed again in the invisible entanglement, like an invisible huge hurricane blowing towards my face. I can't resist it, and I am about to be suffocated.
There are beginnings everywhere and endings everywhere. The nobleness of Clivia will turn into the gaudiness of peonies. I only love that corner called the corner, only it can protect the illusion seen in my innocent pupils.
