Immortal Mansion: With mediocre qualifications, I have no choice but to live forever

June is also a good season for viewing lotus. Shenzhen Honghu Garden attracts countless photography enthusiasts and tourists every year. Lotus has been a gentleman of flowers since ancient times, and its elegance, holiness, and nobility have been praised by people throughout the ages. Standing by the river, the breeze blows the skirt, the flower sways its body, and it stands proudly, truly emerging from the mud without being stained, washing in the clear water without being coquettish, straight inside and outside, without vines or branches, and its fragrance is even clearer and more pure, standing tall and clean. Standing up under the blue sky, with its face half exposed, budding, and a thousand charming and beautiful pictures can outline a perfect picture in the mind...

How beautiful! Spring, summer, autumn and winter, the summer wind blows and the sky rises, fall in love with the June day on earth.

Short essay part 2: Inhaling the fragrance of words in the difficult world

I don't know when I started to fall into the world of words. In my spare time and busy time, I always think about those beautiful words and phrases. In this vast wilderness of words, when I really want to write, I feel lost and don't know how to write. Maybe I need to adapt to strange places and talk to strange people sincerely. It has been a long time since I calmed down and sorted out my past life. I was busy dealing with various social interactions and forgot the charm of the colorful words. The love for words may not only be an expression of mood, but also a kind of expectation and emotional sustenance. Wandering in the fragrance and elegance of words, the grasp of every word and the accurate use of every punctuation mark all involve my fascination with it. In this illusory world, perhaps in the eyes of others this is just a disdainful decline, but what others see are ultimately just some appearances. The satisfaction and pleasure of the spiritual world far outweigh the hard pursuit in reality. Perhaps only those who are immersed in it will understand this.

I have been living my own life, and I have always followed the philosophy of "mind your own business". For me, who knows my destiny, it is no longer important whether I am happy or sad, whether my life is hard or happy. The key is that I have a sense of sustenance in my heart. Facing other people's questioning eyes, I don't need to explain too much, because people who understand themselves don't need me to explain too much, and those who don't understand themselves don't need to explain too much. Whether I am arrogant or indifferent, I am still the passionate me. Take off too much disguise, bring a simple heart that does not forget the original intention, and let others touch and focus as they please.

Perhaps this has become a habit. Whenever I am alone and quiet, I can't escape the complex caused by words. Although I know that my writing skills are shallow, my heart is still insisting. The rough brushstrokes can't draw a gorgeous poem, but I still stubbornly put my thoughts on paper. The accumulation of words, the laying of sentences, finally the book is a piece of empty and boring paper. The stubborn self still tirelessly describes it, wantonly squandering the fleeting years.

I carefully outlined the shallow words with the tip of my pen. The overflowing emotions jumped onto the paper, falling with the pen, taking root, and blooming. Spread all the worldly things on the paper, learn to bloom your thoughts on the paper, let the tenderness fly between the lines, and sway the fragrant yearning on the pure land of the soul. The strands of emotions were thus sandwiched on the pages of the book and pinned in my heart. I really hope that the yellowed paper can treasure this past forever.

When the thoughts touch the heartstrings of the past again, the flash of spiritual resonance can always bloom some gorgeous words, and the slightly empty fragments become more colorful. Looking back at this broken fragment, the past emerges in my mind, vaguely remembered, as if it were yesterday. The pale past is just like this, flashing on the paper with words, not graceful, but elegant, and the blank space between the lines finally draws circles and dots in my heart.

Along the way, the autumn scenery changes, and I don't know how many ups and downs I have experienced. In my memory, there are prosperous scenes and natural sounds at the tip of my pen, which is also the wonderfulness of life. With my persistence in words, I carefully move forward on the long road of life. I wonder if those short words that I have carefully carved can convey my meaning?