A parting of the melting sand

　　In the endless river of time, you say forget, but it turns out to be so easily forgotten. I would rather return to the roll of the red dust, through the frost of the world, the smile becomes so pale, everything out of reach.

　　The world of change is unstoppable, is it too much to miss, or has it been sticking to the stereotypes and refusing to change? All the thinking in a moment frozen, never been so confused, only because put down years of obsession. You have said that if emotion has not been put down for seven years, it is true love, however, then the real emotion can be how, seven years how many days and nights, how much wind and rain, have been away from the junction of a mutual acquaintance, thousands of miles, and then meet far away.

　　The past is like the ripples that have gone away, becoming cyclical and no longer ripples. The fact is that you can find a lot of people who have been in the business for a long time.

　　One day a year, you told me that all people will be passing through, so who will join hands with you at the end of the world? I have seen too many partings, warm and cold, only to hear the wind from the ears, thoughts rolling, can no longer find the faraway places to go, such as a grain of dust, was blown off, was dusted up, no matter the direction.

　　The first thing you need to do is to get a good idea of where you are and let the melancholy wind around your fingertips.

　　The first time I saw the city, I saw the tears of the three lives of the stone, and I saw the glance of the parting turn, fixed into eternity, after how much time has passed, I still drifted in the earthly world, I forgot how to write all the plot, to write down the story repeatedly delayed, tomorrow the ending will not change, still want to write another ending.

　　The most important thing is that you have to be able to get a good idea of what you are doing.

　　If you can, you'd rather redeem all your tears for a drizzle of flowers, drifting up and down, clean, sharp, and spontaneous. The fact is that you will be able to get rid of the problem, but it's a dusty situation, carrying too much of the past and no longer having the courage to fly.

　　The fact is that you'll be able to put down the words, you'll be able to be indifferent to everything, only to discover that only words can express that mood, some people can never see. You said, let it go, just like putting down the sand in your hand. The fact is that you have to be able to get a lot more than just a few of these.

　　The memory of nowhere, at a certain moment of crazy growth, enter your name, see the text will see the traces of your walk, I know, maybe one day, you will also leave, it does not matter goodbye, we are the same, have been to many places, met a lot of people, thought the next place, will always stay, in fact, just our imagination, drifting people, no matter where to go is still just drifting.

　　But still, believe that you have another happy ending, just a glance from the sea of people will recognize that you and I are the same people, sympathetic to each other, can not bear to part, but we all believe that each other's body is carrying a different story, can only walk to that junction to say goodbye.

　　All is like a stunning sand painting, at that time only feel unusual, a gust of wind, quicksand dusted off, only an empty wall, revealing the mottled. Sand, fleeting, no matter how much it costs, can never return to that image.

　　The first thing you need to do is to get rid of your mortal body.

　　The tears in the palm of your hand condensed into frost, a heart for who is busy, and flowers will bloom all over the city, and accompanied by the music of the piano, the journey is too long, the wind is miserable and foggy, the rain rolls snow diffuse, tube tomorrow will be what, even if destined to wander, or to walk into the embrace of spring, right?

　　In the endless river of time, you said to forget, so easily forgotten? I would rather return to the roll of the red dust, through the frost of the world, the smile becomes so pale, all untouchable. A parting of the sand always thought not to leave a trace, but the heart of the hand grows a tangled curve, with the seasons keep reincarnating!