Middle-aged

Life is like a dream, how much joy? A few degrees injury? Looking back, a dream of the bridges, condensed into a little Eaglewood, in the sunset, when lonely, quietly listening to the sound of a flower, that kind of feeling is so beautiful, so beautiful —– People to middle age, the lax and turbid eyes have already seen the indifference, no longer stubborn, and really feel that people will rest in the middle age, and the love has been silent in the deep. No longer chasing stars and holding the moon, obsessed with things with high ambitions, gradually like to quietly taste tea and read articles, seek peaceful and far-reaching space in the fidgety world, talk about fragments and laugh them off, understand others’ dissatisfaction or ignorance with a tolerant attitude. Stepping into middle age, it is like the Four Seasons moving to the mature autumn. I have enough confidence to deal with the chaos in work and life, and I will not stumble or catch the wind. Time not only engraved the vicissitudes and maturity in the corner of the eyes, but also more clearly understood the world in the heart, such as the quicksand sinking at the bottom of the pool, and the wind and rain accumulated in the bottom of the heart for many years. Gradually, faded; Gradually, understood; Gradually, feeling, less impulse and lofty sentiments in youth, more free and easy and tranquil, dealing with others in plain, let go in calmness. No longer demanding others, no longer forcing yourself to do what. The heart is like a clear spring, quiet and calm. Don’t be happy with things, don’t be sad with yourself. It is as cool as clouds and clouds, and as casual as flowers and flowers. In the silence, looking back, I found that the world was so beautiful and sentimental, as if a meteor was passing through the night sky and suddenly fell down. Except for some mottled memories, what else could I have? Time is like scissors, cutting the time inch by inch, and time decreases slightly in the white hair. What we see are trees, flowers and plants, sun and moon, and stars, which are bright in spring and withered and prosperous in autumn. In the next spring, they will be more rich and vigorous, while life, for each of us, there is only one time to go and never come back. Those so-called past lives and the theories of afterlife are just a lie of love and an excuse of rejection, such as holding hands, grow old with you; Or grow old with us. There are some beautiful things that we just talk about, but we can’t understand; Too many times, we are just spectators. The years are ruthless, colorful, and the life is precious. It flies with the wind. The shallow footprints quietly listen to the clear voice in the heart, and the gentle smiles overflow on the cheek. The passing clouds make it drift away gently like morning mist. The fleeting year of the passing water points out green lotuses under the fingertips, and the sunset at this time is drunk, which influences the warmth of the human world. In life, there are many beautiful things, such as poetic words, which give people pleasant enjoyment; Artistic conception like songs, which make people dreamlike intoxicated; Fragrance like flowers, which give people the attachment in their dreams, I am afraid that a painting, a song and a feeling are all wonderful without words in everyone’s heart. In the past days, there were laughter and tears. Of course, there was no need to ask too much for icing on the cake over happiness. When you were frustrated, you didn’t have to worry about getting worse. When you are lonely, you can enjoy the lonely smoke in the desert as you wish, and look for thousands of years of Moss. That was a dream planted in countless days. Even if you regret it, you will get what you have gained. In the quiet autumn, let the Moonlight flow into the heart garden. In the blurred room, in the moonlight of the lotus pond, the pen tip is light, and the fringed ripples are magnified. The poet Haizi had the feeling of facing the sea and blooming flowers in spring, but he chose to turn off a lamp to extinguish the sadness and loneliness of a city. Maybe he was too tired, he did not look up at the Rainbow after the wind and rain, nor did the butterfly dance lightly over the flower field. Just on the rail, he wrote down his painful sadness in a hurry. In fact, life is originally a bitter struggle. We wander in the barren dream and move forward without knowing that we are tired. It has nothing to do with the ups and downs, nor the poverty, only in the rest of our lives, it is the most beautiful of happiness to live a good day and cherish every day with relatives calmly and leisurely. Time is like water, and in another autumn, the wind gently engraved delicate lines of poetry on the fallen leaves of man dance, either deep or shallow. It was also cool in the past and cool in the present.

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