Sina Weibo: The moon is at Wansongding_
Raise your hand and look for a morning and evening in the mottled tree shadows.
My name is Chao Mu.
I was born in a small town, which has four distinct seasons.
I like spring, so I have lived in the style of spring throughout the four seasons.
Turning through the pages of the calendar, the pages are filled with tears, and the tears are full of hurt.
Turning the distinct four seasons into spring is like not being able to see the withering of a flower, like not being able to see the ebb and flow of the tide, the coming and going of people.
I like locust flowers, so I often sit under the locust tree and look up at the sky decorated with locust flowers.
I thought the Sophora japonica could survive autumn and winter, but I forgot that it is not a plum and has no fragrance. It should not be crumbling in the winter.
I also forgot that it was not its fault that it was shaky, it was the strong wind blowing it.
I just lived numbly like this.
I thought I would live like this numb and mediocre life.
What I thought didn't happen. I'm not God. I can't predict the future. I didn't think he would come.
I dare not even think about it.
However, this year's winter is not over yet, and my spring is coming with great fanfare.
Where the water is scarce, sit and watch the clouds rise.
My name is Yunchi.
It's strange, the clouds seem to flow slowly in the sky like water, but my name is Yunchi.
Dark clouds, thousands of horses galloping.
I am a complicated person, the abandoned son of my father.
On the day I moved to the small town, there were overcast clouds and silence for thousands of miles. It was a winter, a drier winter than in previous years.
I entered school at the end of January and met a girl named Chao Mu.
I asked her why she was called Chao Mu, and she said, Chao Chao Mu, she was trapped in time.
I feel weird about this answer.
Slowly, I discovered that she is also a complicated person.
Like us, we all have countless metaphors in our hearts that cannot be understood by people.
Later, I began to like this small town and began to notice the skyline covered by gray mountains, until the cloudy days began to rot.
Until, her eyes began to strand and became my other shore, my sunny day.
Only then did I realize that the crescent moon in the corner of her eyes was the end of tomorrow.
At first I thought she needed to be healed by someone, but now I understand.
She didn't need it, and never had. She is the sunshine in midsummer, the aqua blue that cannot be blown out of wrinkles, the plum blossoms growing on the cliffs, and a cup of mellow warm mocha.
And I am the rusty blunt instrument.
Intention: Slowly get better
