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Xu Zhimo's "Seeking"!

The clothes are not as good as the new, and the people are not as good as the old

I will look for my only soul mate in the vast sea of people, and I am fortunate to have it; No, my life, that's all.

Xu Zhimo. There are not many confidants since ancient times. The meaning of life is like a process of searching. Encounter is the origin, and knowing each other is the continuation. In life, it is inevitable to gather less and leave more, and it is inevitable to worry more than to be happy. The new clothes are tired of the old, and people can rely on it.

Where is the deceased? It's hard to raise your hand, the end of the world, I don't know the west and the east, and when the new acquaintance becomes the old man, I will say goodbye. No wonder the moonlight is hazy and the shadow of the pool is empty, which will always evoke a little melancholy and a little nostalgia.

The deceased's tea is pure and pleasant, fragrant, and a little more tolerant and understanding; A little less scale suspicion. The clear stream glides through the bottom of the heart, the tip of the tongue is bitter, and the bitterness is fragrant. Or slander, or encouragement, benefit a lot, friendship is very good, and it is a pity to look at it.

The old man has a glass of wine, and the old wine is rare in the world. It is not spicy and pungent; I don't feel hot and dry. Three inches around the tongue, fragrant for thousands of miles. Even if the wind is strong in the evening; In spite of the storm; Even if the sky collapses, the world is gone. Only the aroma of wine often haunts the heart, and the truth is always hidden in the bottom of the heart.

The old man has a stick of incense, the fragrance is far away, the spark is weak, but the soul moves and dreams, lingers around the pillar, does not know a little deep, a few dreams are broken, a few in this life, and once happy, once wanton, once uninhibited.

The old man is a day, carrying the broken fragments of the old days, the candles are bright, the lights and shadows are building, and the moonlight is hazy. Who knows whether tomorrow night will be surrounded by stars and moons or the jade plate will be sad alone; Is it to rely on the wind to the poem, or to whisper "the most can't stay in the world, Zhu Yan is a mirror and a tree". Maybe you just need to raise your head and smile at the sky, exchange yesterday's fragments for tomorrow's envy, and then say "goodbye" in envy.

Where is the deceased? Maybe the body is far away, or the heart is detached. But I still want to find memories in the vast sea of people. Message to the end of the world: "The long road of life is not as good as the end of the world, and the clothes are not as good as the newcomers." ”

Green living. Exhausted, I'm going to fly out of the city in search of tenderness or pain lost in the distance.

The leaves of the branches fell quietly, and on the mossy stone steps, the crickets sighed, and then heard the sound of geese falling in the air, and the tip of their noses couldn't help but be sour.

Walking along the river, a faint fragrance wafted from the reeds, slowly bleaching and dyeing. A soft greenery, but the soul of the whole village is soaked.

A few old farmers carrying hoes walked sparsely beside him, but the swarthy ** flashed the agility in his eyes, as if this green ocean had been dyed, carrying a few bits of grass, dragging away.

Where did it come from, this green is so good. The old farmer turned around, looked at me and smiled, his expression wandering in a piece of greenery, moistening a pale heart.

Just as I closed my eyes and thought about this life full of greenery, I heard the light and warm laughter of women in my ears.

Several women shuttled along the riverbank, gently standing on tiptoe, picking a reed leaf, collecting the green in their hands, and condensing it into a faint fragrance. They wandered between the shore and the boat, and every movement was poetic and watery, reminding me of the Penglai boat and the faint fragrance of rice dumplings, which filled the air in May.

They whispered on the other side, sweet but not greasy, soft but not settling, at first there was a reserved cold, and finally, completely indulged in this thick green.

At the door of the house opposite, there was an old man sitting, he gently sniffed the tea in his cup, shook his head, and took a sip. In the shaking of the rocking chair, it seems to have stepped out of time and out of the years. The white smoke of tea rising from the cup condensed into a piece of beautiful jade, hanging around their necks, their lives must be in line with the rhythm of the running of the years, so that the world is no longer superficial.

The footprints of the search are imprinted on this land, and they have become a lingering place, and it firmly occupies my heart. The peasants, the women, and the old man are like waves in the green ocean, poetic and full of green life, forever left among the descendants, turning into a smile, a piece of brown incense, and a cup of tea.

The sound of clear footsteps echoed on the deep bluestone slab, like an ancient nursery rhyme, swinging into the silent castle, leaving behind the trivialities behind, time frozen in the flowing water of this village, those soft dust like sandalwood, faintly coming.

Out of the noise and noise of neon, into the early spring of emotion, the heart that has been wandering for a long time to be refound, this green land under our feet, far from our lives, but in the depths of life, there is an inexhaustible connection.

There is ambiguity in the question, and the identification is complete.