I blinked and time slipped out of the corner of my eye.
It was sunset outside the window. The setting sun was like a torch that would go out, driving the golden crow westward. The western sky was full of clouds, but the eastern sky appeared a kind of greenish purple. The light did not penetrate down from the sparse fall leaves, the surrounding silence.
The wind blowing on the back of the hand, as if mixed with frozen water molecules, cold to heartache. I think of a similarly freezing morning - I stood outside alone for two hours, and I asked, "Are you cold?" I didn't answer, but gave me a sweet smile.
That day, a smile can melt the cold; this evening, where is Yi?
Two
The whole season is trapped, trapped in the temperamental.
Sycamore spent a whole autumn, in the beginning of winter finally put on the golden makeup, and then spent a day in the cold wind red cheeks, flying, floating to the four twilight. The red leaves are full of red leaves, and at the foot of the dry wigwam is a hibernating flower garden.
The unnamed flowers have been fading for a long time, just like the smile that passed away. Perhaps I will see you again in the coming flower season? By then, I'm afraid I've already left this place.
Not as promised a date after ten years! But when the appointment is made, the day of return, people are still the same, how about the flowers?
Three
Shaohua is easy to pass. The son is in the river: the dead are like this!
When the vow to walk together, is my heartache, gas practice. The joy of childhood, talk and laugh a lot. The river of time huh, where is the shore? Naihe seek Ruoxi, not the edge of ......
Woke up in the middle of the night, sitting on the rooftop. The stars are in the sky, the silence is silent. In a certain night, I have sent the most tender thoughts to the bright moonlight: resent my beautiful moon child yo, long life, happiness and well-being; may my heart of love and dream heh, can look at the winter thunder, summer rain and snow, and so that the end of the earth and the sky.
Diya! Ptolemy! Copernicus! Your song resounded through the starry field, and your dance swayed the nebulae. I was boating on the Yangtze River, blowing the leaves to accompany you. Clapping on the side of the boat to make a rhythm, ah, the guitar jumps out of the notes; vanilla sprinkled with overtime, ah, swallows resting on the mast. Storms will not come, for the mountains are heavy; the moon comes and goes, appearing only between the peaks.
The east wind does not come with Zhou Lang, and the bronze sparrow locks up two Qiao in the spring: how I would like to see your face, even if I see it at dawn and die at night.
Four
You said you love lilacs the most, because her name is it.
I have never dared to meet you, only to look out from afar at the windmill. Across the endless fields of wheat is a sea of flowers, making your mansion, her grave.
You have endless stories to tell, because you remember her her every look every kiss and every night. You bet all your energy on a dream to act out your story. She died in reality and was reborn in a dream. She lived in your world and tunneled through words into mine.
Maybe you don't exist either, maybe you are only in my dreams too?
Maybe I don't exist either, otherwise how did I live in that Brahma's dream?
The lilacs are always open, and you guard her for a lifetime.
Never had, not to say put down - no encounter, not farewell.