What I Want to Tell You

After all, the river of time is too shallow and cannot hold so much. Too many precious things have turned into colorful dust and gone with the wind. The grass is long and short, short and long again. The dream wakes up again, and wakes up again and makes you drunk again. When we were young, we rode the wind by the Yishui River, bought a one-way ticket and left. In such a suitable time, not a single flower's fragrance is left. I only remember that the grass grows and the orioles fly, and there is the shadow of the wind in the groggy dreams in the classroom. The stars change and things change. I look up at the moon infatuatedly, from Emei to fullness, from perfect to no trace. Then the wind went away, the dream woke up, and the sky dawned, Then grew up. Life can never be reheated like expired bread. Once it goes bad, it goes bad and there is no way to put it back in the oven.