Author: Mou Wenwen
Time is like a knife, cutting off as many as you want. When you grow up, you live in a dream without sorrow or joy. In the hurried days, we don’t talk about yesterday when we see the dawn. We only know today when it gets dark. As for how many tomorrows there are? No one can tell. All guesses and ideas are unknown. How I wish I could go to the place where the white clouds are playing in the water when the breeze is chasing the fallen leaves, and wait for the stars with the night, and wait for tomorrow with the dusk.
The story unfolds in a long scroll, the sprouts that break out of the ground, Vibrant blooming, helpless withering, and finally returning to the dust and earth with care and tears, there are warm true feelings that permeate the world, and bright fireworks that light up the starry sky, which most caress the hearts of mortals. I am not a stranger in the world, but a common person in the streets and alleys. I like to listen to the wind and rain, and hold a lamp to accompany the moon. I come and go from the world of mortals.
Remaining clouds and falling stars. In the mirror, the old figure sits alone, with thousands of cups of turbid wine and thousands of cups of sorrow. We spend our lives falling like flowers in the water, listening to the gurgling sound of the water, forgetting that the years are short, knowing the warmth and coldness, and only knowing the song written by the breeze for me. I am the reason, I am the reason, I only explain the intoxication of the falling flowers, and laugh at people's suffering inside and outside. The years light up an autumn wind. I have watched the smoke and coolness for a lifetime. I don’t believe that I will always regret leaving the pavilion. Tears drop on my spring shirt, and I wake up easily with wine... I dream of flowers blooming and worry-free for the rest of my life. The wind that comes back soothes my sleeves and dances away from people. . The care that cannot be exchanged for a lifetime, who emptied the city of fireworks, what I hate most is the passage of time. The shadow of the lamp, in old age, folds a piece of dark plum. The paper is short but the love is long, and the written words have an appointment. In this life, the breeze and the bright moon will always be with you at the end of the world.
Take advantage of the refreshing breeze and dress yourself in elegance. A breeze bids farewell to the dream of the passing years. In a breeze, farewell to the face, and the flowers bloom on the ground. When the years are quiet, I don’t know how intoxicating the breeze is. The scattered beauty of the former flowers is left. It's been such a long time, with an inkstone and a touch of ink, the mountains and rivers are picturesque with the breeze, and a touch of incense, crossing the green leaves and the clear water. ***Save life's sorrow!
The bright moon and clear breeze set off one night, promising a tree full of flowers and a dream. When I don’t know my way back, why is the autumn wind sad to draw a fan? Under the same sky, the same bright moon, a thought of sorrow sends the autumn wind away. Who is the lonely shadow going to? Who pities the flowers when they bloom and fall? When the world smiles, the sunset disappears, and when I drink dirty wine alone, my heart feels astringent. Everything, the joys and sorrows of separation and separation, the feelings of the setting sun, the autumn wind that does not relieve people's worries. Looking up at the bright moon, the quiet years have calmed the soul, mixed with the breeze at night, I saw the place of dreams.
Time does not understand people's sorrows, just waiting for the breeze to relieve the lingering flowers of spring. I am so drunk that I don't know the past and the present...