Meet you again, or an untimely spring rain, drizzle like silk, with the stars of the old dream, in the lonely streets looking for that longing figure. The touch of the cold is your distant greetings, so accidentally woke up my sleeping memories, wet is a season, wet is also my dream of you. Standing in the rain waiting, has been carved into a landscape, this gentle wind, this wet rain, holding hands with me waiting for your persistence and sinking.
A flower and a leaf and a bodhi, a word and a heart and a red dust, a poem and a painting, a night and a song, a sadness and a loneliness. Dust as a dream, raise the wine to drink without strings, acacia buckle, heartstrings, chaotic people's hearts, the wind messy, flowers messy, messy upset heart, messy silent rain, that dream of Jiangnan rain and smoke whether to keep the promise.
Small bridges and rivers, white walls, such as ink paintings of Jiangnan in the rain is always hazy poetry. The long rainy days of the city are a record of loneliness, and the lilacs, like the girl with the sorrows, will still be met? The willows on the bank beat the running water to tell endless stories, the boat in the water is looking for its own direction, the paddle paddling a circle of ripples, and then spread into a broken dream, each swim to a distant memory. The road will meet a tree tree blossoms, may stay down to scrutinize, the fragrance of the flowers in my dream of you, but also the flavor of you once, which all close into the clouds want to dress flowers want to face.
The years have wasted the memory of the dream, the past and the future of the focus of the change, the only lonely walking in the rain, in order to feel your company. The hand of the oil paper umbrella thoughts, has been old and numb, but still help me to cover up the time of the gauntlet, but can not bury the lost youth. The mottled traces on the green stone plate, as if telling the history of change and unchanged, the old is the person, unchanged is the location, the rain may be wet with the dream of the years, but not penetrate through the years of longing.
A section of the remnants of the dream need to pour out the words of sadness in the night, a section of the remnants of the candle accompanied by a thin silhouette, outside the window of the rain of sadness in the wind into a piece of music, bleak sadness like the violin played the "Liang Zhu", sadness lingering, sobbing. The peach blossom in March began to fade after the bloom, as always, staged the thought of love like sadness. I would like to bury that once magnificent turn, but the tangled vines are soaked in tears in the speechless crazy growth, this thousand years of love is still hovering on the other side of the blossom, when can end this tormented body and mind grow old tired. The dream of reincarnation always like to linger in the sentimental Jiangnan, that picturesque encounter romance hangs on how many people's wishes, I hope that this repeated staging can be retained if this life is only as good as the first time you see.
The most beautiful April days on earth, as if this month is not fading flowers and willows, but also hides the restlessness in the alternation of seasons, as if it will only interpret the most prosperous splendor. Again see the rain like sheep, tenderness is still your cold hands, you touch my haggard thoughts, kissed the earth's hungry and burning lips. Want to get drunk in your moist arms, with you breathing wet earthy breath, and then walk a loving haze, shoulder to shoulder with you, holding hands this short romantic nostalgia. The rain has been falling, under the sadness of lovesickness, under the sorrow of infatuation, under the love of a lover's tears of incitement and innuendo.
Open the window of the heart, look at the long-lost you secretly hiding in the clouds behind the cry, the heart for you to break a residual red melancholy, that after the rain of the green fat and red thin is a kind of speechless sadness of the pain, is not able to peel off the acacia distance of the injury, but also poetry in the metaphorical love of death. Red and green is a classic poem, touched how many people's inner loneliness, healed how many people do not know where home sorrow. Waiting in the city, anxious outside the city, the tall secular walls become the shackles that block the emotional integration. But the rain will fall in the city, will also fall outside the city, this cold in the thoughts of the infinite deep affection and sadness that is difficult to meet. If you're not in the city, you're not in the city, and if you're not in the city, you're not in the city.
The window is dense with humid haze, the sky is unsettlingly depressing, boring dryness in the rapid gasping for air, longing to fall is the rain, to ease the torment of this time. I feel the sky is falling who crystallized teardrops, with the coldness of sadness, with distant thoughts, in the calm and noisy mixed with the deep, in the anticipation of the flickering desire to reunite the passion. This is an encounter with a rain, the emerald green bamboo leaves holding your slender hand, dancing in the wind, the beauty of the water Pei Fengshang became a road people look back at the scenery. Your hand fiddled with the crispness of the zither, so that the rhythm of the big pearls falling from the jade disk, in the lake surface staggered into a perfect piece of music. The clear sound dazzles out a song of a thousand years of nostalgia, that lingering West Lake appointment, is the dream of not waking up the plot, the umbrella in the rain under the hand in the three life stone engraved on the immortal legend.
Jiangnan rain and smoke will also have the fragrance of flowers, shallow and light, elegant as orchids, do not want to pursue its direction, just want to hesitate to fantasize in this beautiful. Face up, smile, look at the silk of the rain in the wind drifting into a Tang and Song poems, in the song of a single person in a single euphemistic style, the eaves of the wind chimes are still attached to the memories of your youth. Tiny drizzle knocking the old city not sleepy dream, want to meet again in the rainy alley umbrella girl, rubbing the shoulders of the miss will also leave a wisp of long hair fragrance, momentary glance back is so familiar and strange, such as Jiangnan wandering reluctant to give up the depth of love. Regardless of whether or not the years have shuttled the time long ago, this rain and smoke tenderness has been as a season of blossoms branded in the heart of the sentimental traces.
A volume of rice paper unfolded the ink aged face, that sunk years of black and white stained open long-lost picture, smoke haze, rain haze, street scene is hazy, bridge is vague, room is vague, silhouettes are vague, but the painting of the bridge waiting for the person will always be my life unforgettable nostalgia. That youthful smile, that pretty figure, that bright-eyed and white teeth, that warm words like incense, fragrant with the flow of years. The bridge counterparts, boat with the ferry, not romantic storm, but also romantic style, wind and rain as silk mess, messed up my thoughts of your sorrow, messed up the cut, reason is still messy deep love.
A curtain of smoke and rain in front of the window, perhaps the flow of years will be temporarily stranded once the nostalgia, but the temperature of this humidity will germinate the memory of grief. That former love-hate relationship, sweet and sour, such as a sealed old wine, brewing in the heart of the bitter taste, I do not know how many acacia season will be immersed in the intoxicating aroma. Perhaps, one day white head, and then look back to the past, all the past are so calm and frank.
At night, the years of the past and surfaced in the dream, it seems that the wind of the flow of years is not blowing away this sentimental memories, you are always inadvertently surfaced in front of the eyes, a book, a cup of tea, a piece of music, there is a taste of your flavor, that lovely smile, that mischievous little action in the mind of the Spirit out of the warmth. Close your eyes, there are tears in the dream, but the pillow is wet with a piece of wind and snow. Tied to a lifetime of figures wandering in the smoke and rain, twilight look back, that turn of the bleak and indifferent, can use how many poignant verses can tell the tender nostalgia, love of the shallow fate, the deep love, in the tears and the rain planted a flower bloomed aroma, the love of this fondness echoed in the drums of the south of the Yangtze River, a flow of years of rain and wind whether it can really take away the sadness of my wanting to you.
The fireworks are easy to cold, the bubble is easy to break, the heart in the night of the rain catharsis of the pain of sleeplessness, annoying flotsam claiming the wind of the tangled, that fell on the ground of the trouble is who's loneliness in the company? Listen to the wind's depression, listen to the rain's love sorrow, haggard haze guarding the lonely dream silence. Whose infatuation can not give up that turn of the look back smile, the classic warmth of thinning the thoughts that can not be avoided, stay, stop in the deep love once past the road cycle. I don't realize that my feet hurt the weeping of the falling flowers, instantly shattered whose heart, whose dream. Smokey ancient road, that late east wind, that late spring rain, that galloping horse, dragged long who distant thoughts, lost who sleepy fatigue. Who finger flick, cold seasonal alternation, changing the face of the river and mountains, want to cover the lost green green, can only stay in the painting lingering.