The heart is like the warm sun, and life blooms like flowers

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This post was last edited by Xinghao You on 2015-11-20 at 11:09. The heart is like the warm sun, and life is like a blooming flower. Leaning by the window, I watch as this last day of September comes to an end; it’s like a bird that flies in an arc through the sky, appearing quickly before disappearing, leaving behind only a faint trace. The heart is like the warm sun; life is like a blooming flower. Turn on the computer, tap on the keyboard, trying to use words to warm the sadness in one’s heart. Yes, you give words a soul, and they live and die with you. Words emerge, creating ripples on the calm surface – they are the traces of its graceful dance. Inspiration comes from life, and words express it; just as bright sunlight illuminates one’s dull life, they provide a place in the heart where it can dwell. Poetry and verses are its outer guise, while elegance and refinement constitute its soul. It appears on paper, yet astonishes the world. Isn’t the beauty that life bestows upon each of us a unique kind of beauty? The heart is like the warm sun; every day is a sunny day. In those days that have already passed, or at every moment when they are about to pass, I cherished its existence so much; yet its progress did not pause because of my sorrow. Outside the window, the setting sun, on its way to disappear, cast a lazy glow on the mottled walls of the house; the red roses appeared all the more enchanting under that light. The cycle of the four seasons alternates, just like flowers blooming and withering; it is akin to the grass in the fields, which dies and then regrows, with its growth rings changing over time. Just as a fierce fire can set that patch of grass on fire, so too does life add a touch of color to certain moments; even flaws can be something wonderful. The cycle of life and the natural succession of things are all part of an arrangement. Standing in deep autumn, I inadvertently think of the lush green spring. Just as in the face of bitterly cold winter days, one thinks of the green lotuses of summer. There’s no need to grieve over the flaws and regrets of life; keep your heart warm like the sun, and let your life bloom like a flower. A beautiful story, a deep obsession; in the years of youth, it was you who composed for me a poem filled with love. When the wind blows, it is my beautiful thoughts that slip down between my brows. Thus, infinite happiness spreads, creating beautiful ripples on the waves of silent memory. Hold onto a thread of longing, savor a cup of fragrant tea; following the pace of time, dedicate a portion of it to the four essential items for writing, and leave messages of love among the words of fate. Hold tight to the compassion of life; keep smiling, let your heart shine bright—everywhere is like a realm among clouds and waters.