The lotus leaves in the pond have withered, and the willow branches on the stream bank have become bare. As winter deepens day by day, the temperature becomes colder day by day. Sitting by the window, toasting with time, one person, one heart, one city, and one cup of tea - this is the nostalgia for the years, the respect for the time. A person nostalgic for the past always gathers and preserves the past in ordinary life, silently waiting for the cycle, hoping for a chance to gather around the fire, warm wine, and tea, leaving a place vacant, just waiting for you to come, to share a smile, and see the spring breeze again. In this way, the tranquility of time becomes a poem, and the years become gentle tea, with an unawakenable long dream, and unawakenable pure joys.
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7827HC
· 2024-11-26 07:37
Brother Sheng, are we going to increase the position today?
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ListenToTheFlowers
· 2024-11-26 06:05
Long time no see, Sheng Ge! Another heartwarming article! [Coffee]
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Listening
· 2024-11-26 04:41
Good afternoon [coffee]
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BigBullCat
· 2024-11-26 03:27
[咖啡]
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CoinWinner666
· 2024-11-26 02:56
The cold winter feels warm as spring with you by my side 😁
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OneLeafOneBodhi2
· 2024-11-26 02:55
Hello Brother Sheng [Sun] [Sun] [Flower] [Flower]
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KodoTaisei
· 2024-11-26 02:41
People are as light as chrysanthemums, time is quiet, and contentment leads to happiness.
Toasting with the winter
The lotus leaves in the pond have withered, and the willow branches on the stream bank have become bare. As winter deepens day by day, the temperature becomes colder day by day. Sitting by the window, toasting with time, one person, one heart, one city, and one cup of tea - this is the nostalgia for the years, the respect for the time. A person nostalgic for the past always gathers and preserves the past in ordinary life, silently waiting for the cycle, hoping for a chance to gather around the fire, warm wine, and tea, leaving a place vacant, just waiting for you to come, to share a smile, and see the spring breeze again. In this way, the tranquility of time becomes a poem, and the years become gentle tea, with an unawakenable long dream, and unawakenable pure joys.