PART1 The world of floating grass that no one knows. Those quietly growing floating grasses are always rising or sinking on the horizon.Sending away round after round of sunsets in silent evenings one after another. I sit here.I'm sitting here dead. I have sat here and watched forty-seven evenings.Fifty-nine dawns dimmed. Extradition of seventy-four snowless winter solstice. I am here.where are you? PART2 Every day, dreams die in my heart.A Fei's lyrics have always been entangled in my heart.In every night of depression, anxiety, worry, worry and helplessness.It will always lie on my chest.A sentence about me is confirmed in an imperceptible language.cross.White rough confession.

Memories slide slowly across the water.All the way north.north.No one knows where we come from.Where will you go.But we know that we have long messy hair tied up with our bags on our backs.Countless gods sang uncrowned songs above their heads. We passed by lakes, hills, a mountain road full of flowers, and three quiet villages.The smiling faces of those people let me see the bright and clean washing of the secular world. Think of happiness for no reason.There is no reason to describe the loss. Friends say that we always pretend to be worried when we were carefree in the past.But in the years of real sorrow the admonition to appeal is forgotten.

Those green memories poked around.There are countless traces of sadness growing on the top of the head. The wind blows.The wind blows.Spring is even brighter than summer. But you have to live on. No one knows what kind of shock the four seasons of floating grass bring.All things have no ears.It's just me lying on the clean damp ground choking on them.Adam's apple turned up and down. Always live on. Liuyun and Wuyue couldn't perceive the loneliness and stubbornness of Floating Grass.They just cast unknown mercy on the high firmament.People who fly all the time.Never know the difficulty of the Pacers.Fortunately, there are villages ahead.And lights.There are also eaves that gradually become weaker or brighter or darker in the twilight.So Hanzhe walked down in tears.What else?

The irony and ridicule of those who don't know where they came from.Hanging coldly in the sky.They think they are huge.Floating grass uses silence to achieve their shallow darkness and filth. rain again.Drizzling.And those sleeping memories.The cramped annual rings have been stretched.In the slender and bright silver call. It is the spring of the coming year and the coming year. Time suddenly went very, very slowly.I hid in the cave outside the white snowstorm like hibernation. Come and go in a space of ten square meters every day.Ren Nianhua ferried freely without any noise.Sometimes I suddenly become speechless in an empty room.Some dust becomes very heavy.They make me choke again.

Floating grass is always adrift.In every long sunset, a vow without roots is confirmed.He walked through the four seasons without labels expressionlessly.The sun and moon pale and alternate silently. No wind day.Thunderstorm Town.The strange roof has a world that is wet and dry by rain. PART3 Head south along the road.The car drove me to the thicker and thicker jungle.Undulating mountain roads.Circling and circling.The sun above the head wiped out all unspeakable conjectures.Elephants haunt the tropical jungle next to the road.The robin's sharp knock broke the majestic silence in the forest.

Slowly sliding into the unknown world, there is a quiet but empty voice in my heart.Beating and beating, cutting the city and occupying land in my heart. 24 hours ago it was foggy in winter in Shanghai. After 24 hours in Xishuangbanna smell the spicy leaves.Time, space, distance, longing.To hell with it all.Only thoughts go back and forth.Come and go freely.January February March April May June.The winter solstice, the great cold, the stung, the Qingming, the summer and the summer.The change of seasons becomes more and more slow and discernible during the trek.you know.I know. PART4 I like strange cities.They quietly left in the wilderness beyond my memory.One day I passed quietly with my backpack on.They timidly greet me and ask me if I remember them.I raised my eyes and thought they looked familiar.I have long known that lying on the ground can see the farthest blue sky.The tears shed can also irrigate the one-year-old Kurong.

PART5 Sometimes I want to go to a strange village like this.Live from now on.Build an unfamiliar thatched hut and wipe off all the dust.Buy rough bowls in strange bazaars.From then on, commoner clothes and sandals passed the rest of the years.From then on, he became an illiterate farmer, sweating under the scorching sun and weeding in the rain. Birds fly up and down in the wheat field.When it's cuckoo time, there will be birds singing every day.Sleep at night on a hard wooden bed.The moon is so big outside the window.Dogs put their ears close to the ground under the eaves.There are secrets brewing silently in the village, and there are times when they die gradually.

In my sleep, I swayed with the branches in the wind and waited for the dawn.Wait a lifetime. Farmers never leave the village.There is no wandering in his world. At that time, Hua lost its sharpness year by year and month by month.When time takes everything it takes him.Like those migrating birds.The vast land that has been away from life for decades.All the feathers faded in the stare before leaving.Repay the oath that was once emerald green and is now reddish brown.will he cry No one had the heart to blame him for leaving.Because everyone knows that he is the saddest. I have seen the most beautiful sunflower field in the world under a certain hillside.I stretched my hand into the sun and thought of a certain day in Lixia.The flowers in memory are blooming extraordinarily.I stood under the tree and listened to the cicadas for a whole summer.The shade of the tree is sometimes dense and sometimes indifferent.Tired of running and chasing, the children bought Coke with coins in their hands on the side of the road.

That day, sunny, I was as happy as a child. I escaped a rain on the eaves of a certain temple.Far, far away hangs a rainbow.The surrounding moss gave off a damp breath.They wetly turn the mind into something ancient that no one will ever know.The bells echoed high and high in the sky.Like the mournful cry of young gods.The thunder that rolled past was a dull choked sob.Only the surrounding pole grass reveals the spreading green.He buried his head and cried silently. I saw the loneliest snow on a certain seaside.The sea undulates.Seabirds flew low over the water.I wrapped my coat tightly and couldn't speak in the face of such a lonely day.The snow fell silently at my feet.Everyone knows that they will disappear silently in a certain morning.Their lives are prosperous or sloppy.no one knows.

Life and death are silent gradations.No one can tell whether this is sorrow or happiness.So they live life after life.did not stop. PART 6 When I was 10 years old, you stood under the tree and saw that my knee was scratched by the tree.The lush green is the quiet of the tree's sprawling, you know. At the age of 13, Lixia, I stood in the corner of my hometown with my back to you, clutching my schoolbag and not talking.Disappeared Childhood is a film without consciousness.I know. When Bai Lu was 18 years old, he looked down and saw the phoenix flower falling to the ground in a panic.The lengthy farewell is a graduation year book that is rewritten day by day and month by month.she knows.

On the winter solstice at the age of 20, I drank takeaway coffee on the Bund and watched the sky light up bit by bit.The noisy city ends with the clown's haste.who knows. PART7 Some landscapes will suddenly be completely taken out of your heart.As if someone suddenly left.With inexplicable haste and traces that are difficult to conceal.Like the heaviest light at the end of the night. Some cities can always live in memory.Let love and hate run east and west to destroy the city and lose ground, but the walls and tiles are still there. Flags of the four countries are flying in the beacon smoke. Listen to the stream running over the old bridge.They tell me there will always be new fields. Some blizzards have chilled my life.Some sunsets ignite my four seasons.Some floating weeds guide my trek.Some flowers decorate my journey. Some people love me.Some people hate me.Some people have loved me.Some people hated me. More people live alone in a world I don't know.Their lives are silent and silent.They lived silently and happily through ten years that could not be repeated one after another. Ten years ago my father made bamboo dragonflies for me.Ten years later, I can't remember which green hill he was forgotten by me. After many years, the angel stood on the tree.His wing feathers fell off one by one.Turned into thousands of pear trees. Blooming all over the hill. PART8 Sometimes I think about it, I have lived so alone for twenty years.Not without friends.But there has always been an empty and huge loneliness in my heart.There is no way to borrow arrows from straw boats, but there is no way to only owe east wind. For twenty years, I spent every winter alone in this way.Seeing the snow melted, I waited for the next year's heavy snow again.Our loneliness is crackling on the edge of the weed-covered playground of the school.They climb over horizontal bars, jump over bunkers, and chase each other round and round the cinder track. Phoenix flowers in July fell to the ground brilliantly.They stand behind us and stare silently in the setting sun.We walked out of the gate hand in hand, thinking that the class would continue tomorrow.We stood side by side and said goodbye indifferently, thinking that we would continue to meet tomorrow. But so many years have passed.So many years have passed. Those lonely still stand and stare at the empty field.Someone forgot them.But they didn't forget that person.The setting sun carved their shadows deeply and deeply on the field. So our youth becomes very thin and thin. As a result, our once simple years have become irretrievable. PART9 I like to sit in the rightmost seat in the library.Because the sun will shine on time at four o'clock in the afternoon.You like to frown while transcribing.There are more than enough questions to annoy you.I like to sit and drink Coke on the edge of the badminton court under the shade of trees.You like to lie on the railing of the corridor and look at the sky, the clouds and the scenery. There are always people on the blackboard who write ambiguously some words that can only be understood by each other.There are always people who simply and innocently write on the wall that I like you so-and-so.And when people leave the building, the shell of the remaining building jingles in the wind.The cherry blossoms are blooming but no one remembers the school festival anymore. They are all old. Where are they?Luckily for me.Opened up with them. We are all flowers in the wind.Once in the summer, I sang songs hand in hand, looked at the sky, played games, and made oaths.But in the end, they were scattered in the ends of the world that were isolated from each other one after another. Everyone remembers each other's young faces.But no one knew that each other would have a hasty and brief meeting in the first few years of wandering. A moment is a season.A year is a lifetime.The graduation year book turned over yellowing paragraphs. Override Copy Clip Delete. The ground is full of phoenix flowers. PART10 Started dreaming again.Dreaming about high school again.The academy under the camphor.Will open up strong scents in summer.In the dream, I sat on the slide you sat on.Copy the notes you copied.Sing what you've sung.Count the questions you have calculated. I still stood at the net and bowed my head in a clean white shirt. You are still sitting in the camphor with a simple blue hair band and looking up.