Ask for good prose, good essay prose

1] Snowflakes are flying, whose feelings are falling to the ground?

The long-awaited snowflakes finally fell, standing quietly in front of the window, watching the snowflakes fluttering outside the window, the snowflakes flying, fluttering and sprinkling, so beautiful, stretching out a hand, letting the snowflakes fall lightly and silently to the palm of the hand, if there is no miserable whiteness, the coldness of the fingertips jumping, freeze the memory of this moment.

I couldn't calm my thoughts, like scattered snowflakes ...... falling

An unforgettable memory, a heart-to-heart encounter, and a vow that will never be abandoned, just like that, passed away.

I'm missing, missing our inexplicable encounters, and missing the days when we were happy, do you remember? To this day, I still can't forget the love in those long past. It was like a flowering tree growing in a city that didn't fit in.

Bloom under neon lights and wither under the starless night sky.

I can't forget the encounter with you, your tenderness to me, and your smile.

Quietly, quietly and quietly standing in the place of love, refusing to move the steps of leaving for a long time, is it because I love too much, or because I want to do it too much?

Perhaps, meeting you, in the season of snowflakes, doomed me to sadness.

Falling in love with you, in the season of catkins flying, interprets my sorrow.

It's just that I'm still looking forward to your arrival, and I'm still waiting deeply, so that maybe I can get out of a long journey. Because I want to find you, even if the cold wind is cold, my heart will feel a little warm because of the thought of you.

Look down, a blanket of snow. Dazed, trance, your back disappears into the horizon. Outside the window, the snow was still falling, covering the whole of Beijing with a white veil.

The snow can be so pure, quietly, silently, and truly falling the love in my heart, the thoughts in my heart, and the waiting in my heart.

The winter of that year was as warm as spring, because of you. Today's winter, snow-capped, alone in an empty city.

Is it joy or sorrow?

When I was alone, I learned to live with loneliness, listen to lonely songs, taste sad melodies, be alone, and enjoy loneliness.

When I am alone, I often think of a lot of things, and I think of some irrelevant people and some inconsequential things for no reason.

When you are alone, loneliness will come to accompany you, because you are lonely, so you are lonely. There is no one who is who.

When you are alone, when you go from a familiar city to another unfamiliar city, you can't help but feel a little desolate and helpless in your heart.

When you are alone, you don't know where to go, you only know that when you get there, you are there, and everything is okay with what happens.

When I was alone, I didn't know the darkness and ruthlessness of the world, and the sinister nature of the human heart, and I only heard that "it is difficult to draw the skin of a tiger and draw bones, and it is difficult to know the face of a person but not the heart".

When you are alone, outside, although you are lonely, you also have the joy of loneliness. Learn to enjoy solitude, and at the same time, fear loneliness.

When I am alone, I learn to face everything calmly and accept it calmly.

When I was alone, outside, I learned to be strong, I learned to take care of myself, I learned a lot...

When I am alone, I will always silently find a quiet corner to relieve the breathless feeling of being oppressed by life.

When I am alone, I always quietly think about how simple and ignorant my former self was.

When you are alone, you will always wait for the wound to heal, and wait for the heart to start to become numb.

When you are alone, you will always be in a bad mood, and when you think about yourself, it is inevitable that tears will fall.

When I am alone, I like to quietly recall the things of this life and my past life, I don't know who I was in my previous life, who I am looking for in this life, and I don't know if the fate destined in this life can come and whether I can grasp it.

When I am alone, I occasionally think of the happy times in the past, and if I am unhappy, I think about it, and when I am tired, I go to rest.

When I am alone, when I see the street market outside and look at the noisy crowd, I always like to hide in a quiet corner, silently watching the crowd, whether there is your shadow, your loneliness, your sadness, whether you can let me bear some of everything.

When I am alone, I always wonder if things can be made more satisfying and no longer leave an imperfect ending.

When you are alone, you isolate everything from the outside, only think about your own affairs, your own path, how to go, what your future is, and some troubles will haunt you and refuse to leave for a long time.

When I am alone, I am distraught, and I always don't know where the direction is and where I should go.

When you are alone, you lock yourself in your room, and before you know it, the day has passed.

When I am alone, I can't help but feel a little lonely and inexplicable sadness in my heart.

When I am alone, I am alone when I go there, and I always like the silence of a person and do not want the noise of people outside. Whoever you bring, you don't want to.

When you are alone, you often think about it and get lost, not knowing that there is an exit.

When you're alone!

"The Legend of Zhen Huan".

Lonely Fang does not appreciate himself".

Imperial Industry".

Jian Zhen's "Only Because I am in this Mountain", the delicate gentleness of women is blended with a trace of Buddhism, which is refreshing.

Dong Qiao's "Remember" is a prose of the genius school, and from a small article, you can peek into a lot of traditional culture that has been lost today.

Liang Shiqiu's "Sketches of the Elegant House" - exposes the ugly in humor, and criticizes life in the ordinary.

Xu Dishan's "Empty Mountain Spiritual Rain" - the text is as its name suggests. Xu Dishan is very researched in religion, and the prose he writes is beyond words.

Zhu Ziqing's "Qinhuai River in the Sound of Oars and Lights".

Lu Xun "Hope".

Lu Yao's "Ordinary World".

Wang Shuo's "Animal Ferocity".

Yu Qiuyu's "Cultural Journey".

Milan. Kundera's "Living Elsewhere,"

The unbearable lightness of life".

There is no post station in youth.

The wind and the moon flow. Time has taken the same steps, walking unhurriedly, through spring, autumn, winter and summer, and through a month of cloudy and sunny days. Looking back suddenly, the days that have passed away are like a shaking kaleidoscope, inadvertently shaking out an impersonable pattern, and the gathering and dispersion and joys and sorrows are out of print. So I knew that youth was a one-way bus, and there was no post station to return.

The morning bell and dusk drum urge me to raise the sail of the voyage, but my heart is like a leaf nostalgic for the old branch, hesitating in the wind of yesterday, and it is difficult to start from me. I also know that I shouldn't delay the trip, but I can't get rid of the fetters of emotion, I can't seal everything I have in the castle of memory, I lock my birthday tightly, walk through the sunset and the moon every day, as if standing in a clear river, the clear river is the life I have and only have once, but I am standing in the water too often, let the water upstream flow through me and then become the water downstream, let the future flow through my present becomes the past, but I lose today and tomorrow because I am too obsessed with yesterday, So there was nothing.

I often imagine what kind of state of mind it would be for me to sit in yesterday's memories with snowflakes on my head and chew on the stories hidden in every ravine on my face when Chunhua and Qiushi have become history! should have understood a lot and believed very little, but he was still confused by the joke of "the wolf is coming" again and again; It should be a fairy tale that is more in love with spring than winter, but is still nostalgic for the "snow child". The distance traveled seems to be a circle, and after a long journey, it returns to the starting point.

So a lot of times it's doing the same thing, which is looking for a goal.

I once meditated in the darkness, and finally deciphered that the simplest grass withered grass Rong is a kind of mystery, which is the intuitive teaching aid of life: flowers can only be red once, and grass can only be green for a year. The deceased is like this, like the smoke of the past.

It has drifted away with the monsoon, so why bother to pursue and reminisce. The train of youth carries countless passengers, and no one can predict what will happen along the way, and no one can return to the starting point of their own boarding. Since I have no choice, let me crush the frustration and wishful thinking I once had on the rails of time, and then push open the doors and windows, bask in the fresh air and sunshine, and welcome a new journey.

Because I already know that youth is a one-way bus, and there is no return and no post station.

"Mo Shang Flowers Bloom", "Where is the Beauty", "August Weiyang".