I miss this vine plant, which is always so vibrant, and everything that wants to be revealed here will become nourishment for it to grow wildly.
Years have accumulated, and now the vigorous miss has wrapped this man tightly. He wore the one-piece pajamas that never left his body, no longer communicated with anyone, and no longer publicly displayed his superb cooking skills to anyone. So he lived alone in the woods, with his pigs. I miss it to the extreme, and it is completely impossible to fill the photo frame, diary and other items day and night to pay tribute. A flood of thoughts engulfs everything. The voices in those memories, the past, the good and the missed, have become taboos that cannot be touched. Once touched, it will be heart-wrenching. So obediently admit to counseling, day after day, spend in a hurry. When you figure out what you want one day, your heart will be clear. Time flies, those beautiful things disappear suddenly, the other party has been liberated, but he is left alone in this world to waste, day after day, endure the torture of missing. Confession is daily homework, but it doesn't help. Today Fang believes that there is a fly in the ointment in this world, how about raising a case? How about being uneasy? Time rolls by, never waiting for anyone, pity anyone. The two men in the shot are the same. Lose what you did not cherish before, accept what you will never come back to now. Rich material also cannot bring salvation. The epiphany of the heart also cannot bring salvation. This is how the world works. This is why Buddha statues always have compassionate eyes. You are greedy, hate you, you are stupid, you are entangled, you are unwilling, you are crazy, everything will eventually pass away, and what new things have happened in these thousands of years? The eyes of the Buddha are looking at you, at everyone, at the cycle of reincarnation, at the rolling red dust, at everyone who is desperate, desperate... With a sigh, he closed his eyes.
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