Squeeze the sensation in your heart, and then squeeze the sensation in your heart. The ones in the front walk in and squeeze, the ones in the front walk in again, the ones in the back, squeeze again…
Next, there was a “bang” sound, which was heavy and powerful, reminding me of the sound of a bus closing.
Starting from this destination to the next destination, the car may stop midway, but you cannot get off. Even if you choose to get off the bus halfway, it is not your destination, there will not be the scenery you want, even if the scenery is beautiful, singing and laughing will not leave people. Because it is not your destination, you will eventually catch the next bus.
Listening to the troubles, it is the sound of the engine running. This is the mechanical sound that people want to refuse but can’t stop. If one day you can’t hear the troubles again, will there be motivation to move forward. If I have no troubles, I won’t be too lazy to move. “Lazy” seems to be our instinct. Moving forward is more like a passive energy, and we need to add a kind of energy.
Everyone knows that worries are not the driving force of life, worries need space, and they need to be transformed. Squeeze the past events into your heart, beware that it is a troubled space station, press and squeeze the feeling in your heart, so that the fragile mind has the endurance. Perhaps grievances and unwillingness will turn into maggots in the gap of time. Some feel heart-wrenched. In places where we can’t scratch, we know why it hurts, but we can only make ourselves uncomfortable. Competing with others is a win or lose, and there is no success or failure when competing with yourself.
It seems that I have been struggling on the Naihe Bridge all my life, and I can’t buy the bowl of Meng Po’s soup. Why should I be obsessed with it if I can’t forget it. People who yearn for sunshine and love freedom, guard the temperature in the dark night, taste the past thousands of mountains and rivers, it is difficult to make a bowl of Acacia tea, and the taste is cold tea. The cool breeze choked on his throat, and he couldn’t tell how he felt, making the person who wouldn’t be silent turned into a dumb person.
Behavior is the most primitive language. When you can’t prove it or say it, heartbeat is a mime that requires talent to perform. Like the most vivid suspicions in abstract art, no one can know the secrets in the answers. Time is like an old soup, the more you drink it, the more fragrant it is, and the rest is at the bottom of the bowl. I leave the past in love.
It was a thin miss by a song, I don’t know how many people came to my ears, the one who lives in my heart is not very happy, between the mood and the feelings, I feel uncomfortable for the whole night, the tears that fall for love, drop by drop , As if it could break the moonlight. The moonlight in front of the window is like flowing water, and a half-string love song in my heart, weaving a song and ending up.
The rain falls on the string, wet the previous scenes, and then recite the emotions to spring, the expectation of flowers blooming, the flocks of flowers falling. But it makes people confused whether it is disappointment or despair, hope without wings, can’t fly in autumn. Falling on the wings of a cicada, you can’t find Zen. The Buddha said that if you cultivate one fate in this life, you can see each other in the next life. The monk said mourning and mourning. I have never dreamed that the wooden fish sprouts new buds and tender flowers. I only saw the wishes of every donor, some turned into thoughts, and some turned into complaints.
The fate is messed up, the line is broken, and the heart beating on the string is also painful. I have been pursuing a dream ship all my life, but I don’t want to find fish. It’s just that the person is on the shore and the soul is in the water. It’s like hitting a rippling swing on a swing, shaking and shaking, whoever sacrifices to the west wind in fleeting years, the yellow flower is thin and calm, the moonlight is haggard, and the semicircle falls asleep for several times.
Could it be that this world deceives the world, all misses are in the air, and occasionally a miss, can only be thrown on which side of the dream, and when I look for her, I still can’t find it. Painting the boat on the floating clouds, you can’t cross the blue sky. You can only comfort some misses among the blue sky. Tap the spiritual spring to make a pure heart and watch it flow among the mountains, but you will feel sad.
Once again count the attachments, the ones you can’t find, you can’t dream, they all follow the sigh of the green mountains. Seeing the buds digging in the soil this year, it is finally unpredictable, is it possible to fight for a coquettish, or to toss out one? The wind has shaken the chaos.