Give the mood to the words

I walked hard in the snow, using all my strength to find the confused exit of youth. I asked myself when I could find a home for my tired heart, when I could open the snow curtain and feel the beauty of spring, when I could find a confidant who had a connection with me, and when I could turn loneliness into a smile with tears streaming down my face under the sun.

Have been through the four seasons. In spring, the flowers all over the mountains sway gently with the wind, and in their looking back and smiling, I find the joy of discovering beauty; in summer, sweat soaks the clothes of youth, leaving a light dance of youth under the green banyan tree In autumn, walking in the fields with fragrant melons and fruits, greedily enjoying the fruits watered with sweat, the family reunion in the light breeze and bright moon, I found the feeling of home in the sweetness of the fruits.

This life is really not easy. Many feelings of the world can not be fulfilled bluntly; a lot of pressure can be released; many tears can not be removed from the face by the sun; many pains can not be resolved by confiding to others; many predestinies cannot be sustained by compulsion; many loneliness can be cured not by licking their own wounds.

Why am I home? Every night, leaning against the window, drinking hot coffee and looking at the stars in the sky, I felt that the night sky was covered with sparkling tears, and sadness unconsciously welled up in my heart. This long night, how many sad parting thoughts; how much love and hatred; how many unbearable memories. I have no choice but to make books my home. Qiongyao's writing is full of innumerable amazing and beautiful things. You can't help but feel sorry for a tear from the heroine, thump your heart at the smile she looks back, be surprised at her unparalleled beauty, and be delighted with the smile she looks forward to. What a beautiful, kind-hearted, intelligent and simple woman; what a gentle and fresh smile; what a compassionate and strong true feeling. The past is like a dream, the girl's mind through the window, let the flowers bloom clearly, let the green leaves sweep over the small edge, let the birds sing crisp and tactfully, let the breath after the rain brew the intoxicating fragrance of flowers.

I do not understand "A Dream of Red Mansions", only know the love of Baodai; I do not understand "The Demi-Gods & Semi-Devils", only know that the knight-errant treat each other boldly, the woman tenderness break; I do not understand "the season of misbehaving", only know how terrible the distortion of human nature was in that era, we have to reflect. Xu Zhimo, the handsome Childe, wrote many beautiful and affectionate poems with his talent, but the only thing I remember was "Farewell to Cambridge": gently I left; as I gently came, I gently waved goodbye to the clouds of the western sky. The golden willow by the river is the bride in the setting sun. The gorgeous shadow in the wave light, ripples in my heart like a woman, so delicate; the feeling is like a woman, so soft; just, if a woman, so graceful.

Where my heart goes, it is my home. Words, to women, is a kind of charm, a kind of beauty, a kind of softness, a kind of light and strong emotion. Artistic conception, fresh, ethereal and fluttering; emotion, full and affectionate, blooming a faint enlightening aroma. Words, to men, is a kind of strong, strong, tough, a deep and masculine emotion. Artistic conception, magnificent and open, majestic and majestic; emotion, thick and calm. And my words, inclined to women's words, although neither beautiful nor beautiful, neither soft nor light, the artistic conception is neither fresh nor ethereal, but with a kind of deep sorrow, a touch of sadness, faint pain. Sometimes, thousands of words in the heart, but because of the talent of the barren, the brush strokes of the stiff, and there is no way to write down, such as the Yangtze River east water full of heartache.

Unable to write the joy of peach blossoms in the spring breeze; unable to write the complex of peach blossoms still in love with the spring breeze; unable to write the gorgeous blossoms of cuckoos in winter; unable to write the charm and charm of the garden full of spring; unable to write a lonely and sad state of mind. But, so what?

Whipped by loneliness, I still firmly believe that words are my best companion; whipped by sadness, I still firmly believe that words are a good medicine for me to heal; swallowed by loneliness, I still firmly believe that words are an outlet for me to find light; depressed by pain, I still firmly believe that words are the fresh air outside the spring window, so that I can catch my breath.

As long as you regard words as your siblings, your heart will have more to rely on; if you regard words as trusted friends, then your heart will not be so lonely; put the words in front of you, hold them carefully, treat them like treasures and treat them with heart to heart, then the words will give back the same feelings; cut the words into an ordinary flower in the spring garden, and the mood will bloom like a flower. Cut the text into seashells by the sea in summer, then you can hear the voice from the sea: the heart is calm and broad; cut the text into a red maple leaf in autumn, then you can understand that the fallen leaves can be beautiful and gorgeous; cut the text into a handful of snow in winter, then you can always remind yourself that snow is also a beauty of tempering the will.

Words, I give you the mood, but also ask you to promise me a commitment to love, allow me a bright mood, allow me a sunny, warm afternoon.