The End of the Song

Sentiment Selection 1:

The End of the Song

Why can I lock my heart, but I can't lock my love and sadness? In the long life, why does joy always fade at first sight, and the most urgent thing is always the most beautiful time?

-Inscription

Xi Murong's poems are so gentle and sad, with a touch of sadness in their beauty, like a dancer who has danced with elegance and vicissitudes, and when the curtain is about to end, she recalls the past again in the gentle music. Those romantic days, those winter leaves and spring comes, those flowers bloom and fall together, and the text at the end of the essay unfolds, so sad. Every word is a memory, every word is a heavy sigh.

all kinds of life will eventually become empty. Love and hate will eventually become empty. I have been immersed in the artistic conception of poetry countless times before, and I have experienced the sadness from the bottom of my heart. I have also looked back on the road I walked on a rainy night countless times before, and love and sorrow flew with the rain in the lonely night at the moment of looking back. Concealed meditation, the ups and downs in life, the perfection that has been owned or lost before, the meeting and parting that is being staged or has ended, are not as described in the poem?

the beauty and treasure of youth lies in its innocence and innocence, in its meeting but not seeking, and in its never returning. The vicissitudes of life walk in her pen, which is eloquent, but the Zen machine of life? Life is impermanent, gathering and parting are interpreted in her pen, which goes hand in hand, but you can't drink or drink, but you will still get drunk?

Perhaps in many people's eyes, life is not melodramatic, where can there be so much sadness without illness. However, kindness, like me, is like an alternative, and I often fall into it inexplicably, for an old nostalgic song, for a familiar scene, for a lingering red, for a word that makes me feel sad, and let those sorrows crawl through my heart. :

At the Red Dust Ferry, people come and go, and they have experienced too many on-off and on-off. Suddenly, they find themselves more and more lonely. Time kills me invisibly. Take back the distant eyes and re-examine yourself. Sadly, I find that I don't know when time has carved me. Except for the deep and vicissitudes, there is no potential to pursue pleasure and perceive pleasure in my heart, and I have lost my only self-confidence. Walking in real life, learning and understanding to bear alone, learning and understanding to hide oneself deeply, learning and understanding, no longer expecting.

The cups and lamps are blurred. In this spring season, on this silent night, I suddenly remembered this sentence. I don't know which book I read from, but I have always been impressed. The blurred cups and cups, in addition to the swaying and blurred nectar, lie in the fragile and fleeting illusion. So, does sadness also come from the fragile and fleeting illusion in life?

When I came home from work, I sat on the bus and closed my eyes. Suddenly I heard a song playing on my neighbor's cell phone: I finally knew that people were lonely at the end of the song, and only sad people had it. Your last suit of red remained in my eyes, and I had no excuse for attachment. Zhang Yu's vicissitudes of life and trembling voice are repeated in my ears, and that painful song brought me into that year. Distant memories came with sadness, and tears came to my heart unconsciously.

I remember that year when I came to that coastal city alone for an impossible relationship, and my boyfriend's brother and two of his comrades received me. In the hotel where I stayed, I talked about the reality that I had to deal with. I was helpless and I just buried myself in tears. My eldest brother silently accompanied me and silently handed me a tissue, letting me vent my pain in my heart. For a long time, I looked up and saw the deep heartache in my eldest brother's brow. (the most classic sentence)

Although it was the first time we met, the gentle companionship of my eldest brother made my helpless self feel a little warm. That dinner, my eldest brother dragged me to his house, and a table of people sat together, and it was obvious that everyone wanted to send me love. But at that time, I was very young, and I didn't know how to hide the pain in my heart, but I wrote my sadness on my face, basically ignoring everyone's enthusiasm. During the dinner, the careful eldest brother poured me a small glass of red wine, and then raised his glass. Although there were tears, the gentle sentence of be happy was locked in my heart from now on.

Maybe I'm afraid I can't let go. After dinner, my eldest brother walked slowly with me in the seaside park, round and round. No matter what my eldest brother said, I remained silent all the time. When I think of it at the moment, I suddenly feel very indebted to my eldest brother. I really don't know what kind of emotion my eldest brother was carrying with him. For a long time, he whispered about the secret he had buried in his heart, a secret he had never told anyone: there was a beloved person in his life before, but they were doomed to be unable to come together and deal with the reality. He chose to let go, although there was pain in his heart. He said: Love is not to possess, but to make the other person fly higher and live more happily ... < P > So this is the loneliness at the end of the song. What else do I want to wait for you? You hold my sleeve tightly and let me go, and break up with me completely this time. The songs in the mobile phone are still being played over and over again, and the road of life is still floating, but when I am lonely and helpless, I can't find you anymore, the elder brother who gave me a warm feeling when I was most isolated, and the elder brother who has fulfilled my brother's dream all my life. It is precisely because we haven't contacted each other since that parting.

It turns out that time is like clothes, and love and sorrow have long been interwoven in the warp and weft of clothes and densely covered in our lives.

So this is the loneliness at the end of the song, before I could hold your hands tightly.

Sentiment Selection 2:

Listen to the wind and paint a dream, don't ask people to disperse at the end of the song

I am used to listening to the wind, leaving a few old words at my fingertips, which once made my memory faint, gently cluttered with clusters, watching the wind lightly and smiling. If you ask about fate, why is there only the heart in the dream, all kinds of glass, so that the past is still remembered, like the wind, listening to the wind and painting dreams, regardless of the end of the song.

the time that passed in the story, with the rapid passing of water, was never found again. Those scattered prosperity always seem to be depressed in the smoke of dreams, and the pen and ink of painting can't paint a perfect story.

when sitting and lying in the wind and being blown by the breeze. Too many helpless worries, always wandering in the hole in the middle of the night with upset thoughts, never know how to clear it, let the deep feelings dance at the fingertips, thin out the broken dreams, whisper and sing softly. (team name)

Often; In a quiet time, I will always gently pinch the pen of memories, write dreams with unfinished years, and look forward to them in my dreams. The story of meeting was once like a fallen flower in thousands of feet. Even if tears dissolve, I never know that I can't collect or freeze the past. Perhaps; I have never forgotten.

Over the years, I have walked through countless mountains and rivers. The road of life, many things, also learned how to cherish and be grateful from the moment when I stepped deeper, even if everyone who appeared in my life, after a long time, would always be so missed and unforgettable in a personalized day.

tonight; As before. Leaning in the light by the window, looking at the sleeping city, looking for how much sadness remains in my heart, listening to the wind again, the residual temperature is warm. The dream turns around, but it is so, so scary, the dream is not a dream, listen to the wind.

after the wind blows, draw words on paper. For this gorgeous drift of life, in fact; I don't have much confidence to grasp the future. Every time I indulge in my thoughts, I will always think deeply in a silent world, and countless deliberate reviews will be unbearable, and I will repeatedly meet the sadness of parting at the end of the song.

there are some roads that we can only take once. Years, the passing past, the perfect memory, the old dream of youth, in countless misses and parting, always in the past years, fixed the past that can't go back, the moment when time flies, speechless, disorderly string into the desolation of fingertips.

empty chapters and sentences, broken intestines. How many flowers fall from dreams, how many people walk in the cool tea, listen to the wind and paint, and tears and ink will break the dust in the past and brew into a cup of bitter wine of the years, which is so unique and sweet. Wandering in countless times, it seems that often in the long wait, it becomes a sad thought with nowhere to talk.

several spring and autumn, bitter life. We are always like this. We think about the road of life after we have passed it, as if we have missed a lot. Looking for a circuit, and the fleeting time has repeatedly been illusory, and the old days are unbearable. I sigh that I will waste my youth, how can I do it, and I will dream of it all day and night, adding to my feelings.

the moon is hanging and the breeze is drunk. In the sleepless dreams, I still vaguely remember the past when I was lonely and sang songs. Maybe; There is always someone who once loved me so much. Even if I finally turn around and don't ask the end of the song, I will no longer be the splendid fireworks in those years. I want to love. This is me, the perfect past.

the fleeting time blows away strangers, so people are looking for sex. In the depths of falling red, the dream song has become a story, and the tenderness left in the air is the lingering fragrance of the fingertips. Only the pictures of memory have deeply turned the vows of eternal love into mud, and the clarified blank has forever made the memory prosperous, and never asked the end of the song.

Withered time, tender feelings and tiredness, singing in a low voice, somewhat picturesque, lonely indulgence. Unscrupulous listening to the wind and painting dreams, leaving traces of desolation, in the melodious distance, ignoring the world, the sorrow and joy that flowed away, broke up with time, and the string sound of the curtain call finally rang my loneliness. (Beautiful paragraph)

Dreams become empty, and songs end. Since ancient times, I have been tempted at first, and loneliness is still bitter about people. Those storms are accompanied by each other, and the moment seems like a lifetime ago. It is said that we will always be together. Finally, we quietly leave each other, but it has become ancient and modern, but we are silent and lonely. We meet only for dreams and laughter. However, things are exhausted, and we look forward to the endless horizon. All that is left is tears.

write a silk book with a simple pen, and the flowing music ends in lingering heart. How many tears have wet the sleeves, how many songs have painted dreams of the past, gently rippling in the heart of the smoky boat storm, with ripples of memory, and the withered loneliness will always become the final sound of the song in the dream of listening to the wind. How many people have scattered and fluttered in the rivers and lakes in the dream smoke, and the final silence is hard to say, so the old things are so disturbing.

in the eventful years, years count as dreams. I don't know that the years have passed, and I am old, and I am walking in the street of memories. I can't help but pick up the passing years, or maybe it is me, so persistent and willful. In the fleeting time, I will be crazy about my short life in my pen, and I will listen to the wind and dream in my eyes.

at the end of the song, I don't ask a few stupid questions, but listen to the wind and dream. Walking in the boundless world, how many things have you lightened? In life, there are always people who leave and people who keep breaking in. It seems that this has always been the theme of the story. The canoe crosses the moon and the music ends with a rustle, which makes it impossible to stop the pictures of those spare relics, but in the vicissitudes of life, it is hard to take back the inch.

The drunken years have lightly grasped the passing moment of time. I love quiet loneliness again and again, and I am used to loneliness. I always enjoy walking side by side with the words in that endless mood, and I can't sort it out. In the bustling city of Xiao Suo, I write a sentence, listen to the wind and dream, and never ask the end of the song.

the breeze shadows and leans against the column to review. I can't let the dream, the mood of painting the wind, the long night, and the anxious panic, under the high altitude of the bright moon and after being shot into the glass heart by the moonlight, seem so tired, holding those uncertain pictures in the heart of the past, if it can really disperse, whether to let the lonely shadow sleep again.

sitting alone, thinking about the wind and dreaming, getting drunk and asking questions will eventually lead to a breakup. There is no old dream of returning to the shore. In listening to the gossip, Xiao Qu blew away the sorrow, drifting away the clouds and drifting away, and Qian Fan had all the floating waves, just; In the story of experience, it is helpless and changeable. Dreams are like falling flowers, gently stirring the injured atrium, and it is always difficult to describe heartbroken.

there are flowers on the other shore, and the stems are left with dead branches. After being hurt, you will know how to bury a deep love in the past, and the desolation will die because it must be a passer-by in feelings, ripples in the wind, the time of silhouette, listening to the wind and dreaming, regardless of the end of the song.

Sentiment Selection 3:

People leave at the end of the song

I finally understand: The loneliness of people leaving at the end of the song

The courtyard is so deep that the phoenix trees are already full of sadness. O, o, my thoughts are constantly flowing, and my eyes are leaning against the carved fence.

In other places, a hundred flowers and remnants are exposed, and loneliness and prosperity are all late. Leaning against the window adds to the gloom of the moon, and drinking alone in the wind relieves the worries.

I've lived in a foreign country for three years. Where is my childhood now? Blow the flute for no reason to revive the old tune, and the endless journey is afraid of the autumn cold.

—— glass winding

After several storms and several spring and autumn seasons, I came to * * * for another year of glory and decline. I don't know how to worry after drinking a thousand cups. Looking back, you are no longer in the dim light, only leaving me with misty eyes and counting the clear autumn alone. It's just that this night is heavy and cold comes to the sleeves. Who will add clothes for me?

I slept after 1 o'clock in recent weeks. I wanted to watch TV for entertainment, but the more I watched it, the more energetic I became, so I always stayed up late. Maybe I am old, so that every time I stay up late, all kinds of insomnia and headaches will come together. Although I still love the night and the sense of security brought by the darkness, I still can't adapt to staying up late.

I spend a lot of time in a daze and silence. Although I feel bored and lonely, I just can't get interested in chatting with others. I prefer to enjoy myself rather than saying useless things. I told M that I was a lonely child, and M said unremittingly, only you are lonely. If you are lonely, the whole world will be autistic. In fact, I only talk crazy occasionally. Sometimes I feel that I am a schizophrenic and mentally weak person. Maybe everyone's actions and words will be different under the influence of different environments, but more often I am quiet.

I am not a person who is good at expressing my feelings. I always look cold. Occasionally, I hate this kind of self. Too often, I put myself in others' shoes and feel moved by small things that others don't care about. I know that I have always been kind, so I am often moved by myself. But whether I am quiet or moving with the wind, I will accept this self.

the rustling autumn wind is in my bones. When one day I realized that many things and many roads need to be taken by myself, many things can't be felt by others even if you talk too much, so I stopped complaining when it was cold, and only silently added a dress for myself. Although I didn't have a beautiful face, I smiled and walked forward, silently doing what I should do in this city.

I firmly believe that time has the power to destroy everything quietly. It can make us from being young to being mature and prudent, from being beautiful in the past to being white-haired later. All things that we could not let go of before will be understated in the passing of time, and we will no longer make a fuss, and everything will be light. At that time, we just sat in our own courtyard and watched the flowers bloom and fall, waving gently to the white cloud on the horizon and saying goodbye.

I saw a photo of Shuangfa in the space dynamics the other day. She is married, Shuangfa is my high school classmate, and her brothers and sisters are her college classmates. I have also seen it. It is really good for Shuangfa, and it is really a happy thing that they can tie the knot. Shuang Yi