Essay The Corridor of Life I Have Walked Through 700 words 100

The daily diary is simply a thing of the past. The figures in life are like ghosts, without a trace.

Thoughts, in an instant began to think about the twilight, a thousand turns can not be stopped, that ephemeral feelings, so sad, everything at this time, cruelly illustrated, short-lived thoughts, as brilliant as dazzling, through the corridor "The beginning of the text".

A long cloister stretches into the depths of sight.

Like the figure of an ant, busy between distance and distance.

Thoughts are hidden in the noise of footsteps. How many people walked on the railing, rubbing their heels against their heels. Or be squeezed, using the back of history as a signpost.

We all look into the distance with blank eyes. Yesterday's wind chime-like laughter was no longer loud, and we cleaned up one morning after another, cherishing every drop of dew even more.

Those who have laughed are still smiling, and those who have cried are still left with tears, and they will eventually sleep with nothingness and blankness.

Now, the sleeping ears are awake, the sleeping eyes are awake, and the sleeping lips twitch slightly. We need to breathe freely

Breathe the sky, the earth, and friendship.

Breathe the ocean, the forest and love.

Breathe the mother's nagging, the child's child's words, and the scene and outline of every peristaltic cell in the breathing days.

Enjoy the turbulence and don't have to be sad for a second of coldness.

Fold our unforgettable pain, fold our unforgettable joy, and fold our boats that have been carved with arrow marks one by one.

When we walk through all the myths and legends, we don't need any rhetoric, and it's vivid.

Further reading through the corridor - the edge of the dust is long, destined to walk through life.

That night, I finally knew what loneliness was, what helplessness was, and there was an unspeakable contradiction in my heart, and the cold wind outside blew on my face and into my body, a cold that I had never felt before.

Outside the window, a curtain of broken shadows swayed, and the leaves fell. Inside the window, a song is soothing and the voice is ups and downs. If you don't sleep, why do you want to send it? Several times I dreamed of the cliff branches, the idiocy was the word, the crazy memory, and the mountain was full of red leaves.

Whose jasper flute sounds? But I didn't see Huaiqiu's thoughts quietly following, and sighed softly, Shuoqiu was already late in the maple forest.

In the depths of autumn, the smoke and clouds are bitter. The drizzle covers the face, and the sycamore sound is pitiful. Three points of hesitation, seven points of regret, I can't bear to look at it.

A streamer tree dances in the wind, but it has to be leisurely and peaceful. The road is long, the line is hurried, the scenery is pleasant, and the heart is heavy. Jun didn't see it, the thin shadow was so embarrassed, don't blame his thoughts.

The cycle of reincarnation alternates, and there is nothingness in the world.

A leaf knows autumn, a tree is bleak, and a season is sorrowful and hesitant. The clouds are rolling and the water is flowing, and the geese are flying south without looking back. The remnant order is still there, and there is nowhere to wait? The leaves are sad, the love is also earnest, the fate of the dust returns, and the life is rewarded. No, no.