The sun is pouring down on the city, and the marks on the pendulum of time are decaying layer by layer behind you

The passing years, who are you waiting for to help each other...

The long years are peaceful and endless. Things are also wasted...

You pick up flowers in the morning and at dusk, but all you pick up are withered...

When you have time, you must make use of it, because time is fleeting.

The water flowed eastward, and the leaves fell one after another. The passing time passed quietly and slowly, wearing new clothes and lighting firecrackers. One year, one year old, gradually approaching, secretly moving away, I sort out the messy thoughts and move towards the new year. Another year of green grass, I can't catch the time that passes through the gaps between my fingers mercilessly.

The swallows have gone, but there will be a time when they come back; the willows have withered, but there is a time when they will be green again; the peach blossoms have faded, but there will be a time when they bloom again. But tell me, wise one, why are our days gone forever?

Sometimes, I really want to believe in some movies about turning back time, but fantasy is always fantasy, and reality is so helpless.

Counting silently, more than eight thousand days have slipped by my hands; just like drops of water on a needle tip dripping into the ocean, my days have been dripping into the flow of time, without sound or shadow.

Only the passing of time makes us notice time

Time flows quietly through the fingers, silently, without making a sound; time slides gently from the hair tips, leisurely The land is not noticed by people; time passes quickly by, quietly, until time proves everything, it will stop being forgotten by people...

Please adopt what you have found so hard