Drop a sum of long lovesickness, how many tears of infatuation, drink a cup of cloudy wine, how much taste!

Several times looking back, the red dust aspired to *** look at the flowers blossoming in front of the court, the thin and thin, in the smoke and rain in the heavy building but has been the west wind blowing all, blowing is always a touch of faint melancholy. Red paper to send a message, the remote delivery of turning obsession; in the lonely pain in the silent number of cold, in the light song and dance in the quiet appreciation of the Shaohua, in front of the eaves to wait for the flowers to blossom and fall, in the dome of the sky to watch the clouds roll over. The sails of love are stranded in the windless sea. The heart of the sprouting, drifting in the song of the summer night lost. If you have loved and suffered, you will know the truth and the falsehood, the starting point and the end point, you can never escape from the deepest heart of the dialog. Hold read a paper, for you to write down the poetry, thinking, clean coupling unfavorable lingering. A strand of unfinished love, overflowing with the ancient ferry, slender bamboo flute, interpretation of the ancient song in the red dust. Borrowing a piece of paper, with ink as the word, stretching between the eyebrows of the sadness, with the fragrance of the flowers, colorful charm of the world. A handful of water, cut a wind soft, with thousands of thoughts, quietly quiet in the world, calmly abide by each other. The lingering fingers, carrying thoughts, in the night cool as water, rain light cold Shaohua, waiting for the blue water long days, looking at the wind and the moon deep long ------ standing in the shadow of the clouds in the haze, the long and deep lingering thoughts into a leisurely poetic, miss singing into the Song lyrics in the poetry of the poignant. I don't know how much more I can carry for you in my own slender soul, but I don't know how much more I can carry for you in my own slender soul. I'm afraid that if I wait for a few more seasons of blossoming and falling flowers, my pen and ink will gradually cool. Haunting a cup of tenderness, contains light sorrow, will be a cup of euphony, chanting into a paper full of flavor; twisting three points of the moon, brewed into a flower edge, let the destiny of the displacement, the fate of the earth is wasted. Dreams apart from the end of the world, the thought of all, your shadow is faint as smoke and arashi, but always in my distant line of sight, with a soft finger, through the willow across the river, with a wisp of wind, flying through the millennium of dust and smoke, with you lying drunk in the incense around the painting building, dreaming of the flowers ------ night is very thick, the dream is too skinny, who is willing to wait for who? The life of the long, gorgeous chapter, who would like to stay for who? The fireworks can't be cut, and the love is constantly cut. A cup of Acacia rain, fold a flower of longing, leisurely floating across the chrysanthemum platform, with the expectation of condensation of your silhouette, told of the sadness of the dream breaks the sadness of the pharynx, just, I do not know can hear me in the red dust in the ghostly less sighs? Can I perceive a weary heart in a day and night of old age? Through the oblique wind and clouds, to the mood to carry a plain clothes, with shallow and thin sentiment, swim into the ink of the text, gently written into the flow of years. Cutting a sunset, holding a deep love, scooping up a shallow pity, swaying the heart, drunken dance wind and moon, quietly listening to the passage of time since the opening of the fall. The dusty look back, see the splendor of a fireworks, keep a section of the plain of the long flow of water, in your mutual dependence and warmth. For you, pick up all the way to the scenery, for you to sing low reality, water eyes gently convergence, flick a piece of flower petals floating in the hair bun, sprinkle all the way such as the water of the sound of the heart. The idea to go thousands of miles of smoke, a sigh of a pain, if you can, alone tonight's moonlight, whether it is possible, the heart of the obsession and expectations of the exile, to the end of the world, the corner of the sea, no longer with the Acacia uncontaminated, insulated from the hang-ups? The flower rain gently intoxicated by the butterfly's warm fragrance. Do you know, even if you are separated from the landscape, every time the butterfly wings open and close will bloom a petal of the flowers of the sadness. Water color and cloud shadow, how much I want to use the fragrance of flowers to warm up the eye of the clear water color, only to stay brightly reflect all the scenery, even if the silence, still happy. The night of the green smoke, ripples the fragrance of the breath, hazy bleak mood, the knot in the knitted brows on the sadness, gently popped off, rubbed a strand of green sadness, scattered to do the end of the world song, speechless with the flowers fall. How will a wind and moon, in the beautiful words, singing and chanting? If the red dust can be broken, just want to filter off a dust, no need to pianos for me around the shoulder, red for me to pave the ground, I would like to do an idle flower, gently shallow bloom, let the seasons alternately, let the tide come and go, to abide by a party of the soul of the pure land, away from the secular strife, far away from the complicated world, with the wisp of fragrance decorate the dream of the dress dream fall red dust, softly chanting, ink wave ho, a paper red face pale who's years, ridiculous, and who's A lifetime, the bitter end of whose tears, listen to the sadness of the flowers fall, listen to the flowers blossomed, in exchange for a season of mourning ------ moonlight streaming, caressing the shy face, the wind, bring far away murmuring whispers, the sea, can not cross the river with a Wei, day and night to the words to do the paddle, picking up bright thoughts, burned out of the heart of the watchful incense. Sitting quietly in the arms of the night, collecting a wisp of moonlight, gazing at the water between the surplus, that can not ferry the other side of the shore, climbing frame in a piece of paper paper, any messy words in the bottom of the eyes show all the heartache. Night, thoughts such as flowers fluttering, mist gauze through the cold, a piece of the body and mind of a thousand lines of tears, full of all the eyes of the sour, the clouds are deep and no ferry. I don't want to be a part of it, I don't want to be a part of it, I don't want to be a part of it. I've always been accustomed to stopping in the text to see the flowers bloom and fall. Regardless of how the season changes, what remains unchanged is that a hold in the heart of the hands of the persistence. Life, even if it is not complete, is also a kind of mutilation of the beautiful, even if sad, is also a kind of happy pain. Embracing the stranded moonlight, murmuring alone, when the dark fragrance floating, full of sadness buried in the fragrance of flowers, picking up the residual fragrance of the fallen flowers, in the fingertips of the softly pouring, condemned to inseparable voice of the heart, entangled in the sleepless moonlit night, thin into a long verse, with a lonesome wisp of fragrance, left in the red dust in the depths of the place. Window looking at the moon, listen to the wind curling, listen to the clouds and the moon wandering, the whispering of flowers, the heart is like a slender silk, guarded by a que of poetry, a wan fragrance, pull the heart into a bun, colorful clouds inserted into the flowers, a strand of thoughts lingering fingertips, around the tenderness of the end of the story is not over, the thoughts, from now on can that a flat boat, only carrying spring light does not carry sadness. Fine rain and smoke cage, with a flower rain and budding spring about, in the spring of the delicate dance. A bosom of elegance, an instinctive tenderness scattered into the fragrance, written all over the four seasons. I just want to hold on to the years of charm and sadness, smiling, light dust, light look at the clouds and sky. Soft silk thousands, soft wind and rain, with the light fragrance of flowers, accompanied by the moonlight, floating down the dust and smoke, full of fragrant paper, like fireworks scattered, dancing lightly in the dream, the poignant sentiment for a touch of red. A night of rain, the remnants of red all over the ground, had also delicate stand branch, now but the flowers have become injured, even if the flowers have flowers when the flowers are still blossoming, still pity that the petals withered bleak and helpless! Faint thoughts, perched as a butterfly, gather a shoulder of flowers, dyeing a few ink colors, in the softest corners of the heart diffuse, strangers in the red dust, who draws the ground into a prison, always walk out of the end of the world, looking back at the lights at the end of the world, there can be someone to stay and forget, and who's feelings in the years of change can be unchanged? People at the end of the world, the heart at hand, in love with a memory, dense a touch of tenderness, waiting in a paragraph in the text, quietly savor your heart, but also a smile, so that once drunk into the heart of the dream, condensed into a tree in front of the window fragrance of flowers ------ rain.2013.05.27.