Met you again, or an untimely spring rain, drizzling like silk, with bits and pieces of old dreams, looking for that eager figure in the lonely street. The coldness of your fingertips is your distant greeting, so you accidentally wake up the sleeping memory. This is a rainy season, and it is also my dream of missing you. Standing in the rain waiting, has been carved into a landscape, this gentle wind, this wet rain, holding my hand waiting for your persistence and sinking.
One flower, one leaf, one bodhi, one word, one heart, one world of mortals, one poem, one painting, one night, one song, one sadness, one joy and one loneliness. The dust of the past is like a dream, so we raise our glasses and propose a toast-but, alas, without music, lovesickness, gripping and disturbing people's hearts, messy winds, messy flowers, disturbing hearts, chaotic and silent rain. Did the dreamlike misty rain in the south of the Yangtze River keep its promise?
Small bridges and flowing water, white walls with black tiles and ink paintings in the south of the Yangtze River are always hazy and poetic in the misty rain. The long rain lane records loneliness. Will a girl as sad as lilac meet again? The weeping willows on the shore beat the running water to tell endless stories, and the boat in the water was looking for its own direction. Paddles ripple in circles, then spread into broken dreams and swim to distant memories. On the way, I will meet a tree full of flowers. Maybe I will stop and study it carefully. There are dreams of missing you among the flowers, and there is also your taste. These are all things that need clothes and flowers.
Time has wasted the dream of memory and changed the focus of the past and the future. Only when you walk alone in the rain can you feel your company. The yearning for the oil-paper umbrella in my opponent is old and numb, but it still helps me cover up the gaunt time, but it can't bury the lost youth. The mottled traces on the bluestone board seem to be telling the changes and invariance of history. It is people who grow old, but the place that remains unchanged. The drizzle may be a fleeting dream, but it can't soak up the thoughts of the years.
A broken dream needs to pour out sad words at night. A broken candle is accompanied by a thin silhouette. The sad rain outside the window is bleak in the wind, and the sad sadness is like "butterfly lovers" played by the violin, touching and sobbing. In March, peach blossoms began to wither after blooming, and as always, they staged their yearning for acacia. I want to bury the once gorgeous turn, but the tangled ivy grows wildly in the silence full of tears. This eternal love still lingers on the other side of the flower. When will it be time to end this tiredness? The dream of reincarnation always likes to linger in the sentimental Jiangnan, and the picturesque encounter romantically cares about the wishes of many people. I hope this kind of repeated performance can make this kind of life beautiful, as if it were just the first time.
April is the most beautiful day in the world, as if this month will not fade, and it also hides the uneasiness in the alternation of seasons, as if it will only perform the most prosperous glory. Look at the drizzle like cotton, tenderness is still your cold hand, you touch my haggard thoughts and kiss the thirsty and burning lips of the earth. I want to get drunk in your wet arms, breathe the moist earthy breath with you, take a walk, stand shoulder to shoulder with you and hold hands with this short romantic memory. The rain has been falling, which is the sorrow of lovesickness, the sorrow of infatuation and the tears of lovers.
When I opened my heart window, I saw you secretly crying for a long time behind the clouds. My heart is broken, and your residual red and melancholy are everywhere. The fatness of the green onion after the rain is a kind of silent sadness, which can't separate the distance of lovesickness, and it is also the emotional sadness of metaphor in poetry. Red and green is a classic poem that touches many people's inner loneliness and cures many people's sadness that they don't know where their home is. Waiting in the city, anxiety outside the city, and tall secular walls have become the shackles that block emotional blending. But the rain will fall inside and outside the city. This cold yearning conveys infinite affectionate attachment and unsatisfied sadness. Whether inside or outside the city, hello, it's sunny for me.
Outside the window, it is wet and hazy, the sky is confused by the repression of amorous feelings, the boring dryness is breathing rapidly, and it is the rain that is eager to fall to alleviate the suffering during this time. I feel whose crystal tears fall in the sky, with sadness and coldness, with distant thoughts, mixed with deep in calm and noise, and flashing with the passion of reunion in expectation. This is a rainy encounter. Green bamboo leaves hold your slender hands and dance in the wind. The beauty of water and wind has become a landscape for passers-by to look back. You fiddled with the crisp sound of the piano, making the rhythm of large and small pearls pouring on a plate of jade a perfect movement on the lake. The clear voice is filled with nostalgia for thousands of years. The lingering appointment of the West Lake is a plot that I don't wake up in my dream. Hand in hand under the umbrella in the rain, carved an immortal legend on the sansheng stone.
There will also be flowers in the misty rain in the south of the Yangtze River, which are light and elegant as blue. I don't want to pursue its direction, just want to hesitate and fantasize in this beauty. Smile on your back and watch the drizzle drift into a poem of Tang poetry and Song poetry in the wind. It is graceful in the song list, and the wind chimes under the eaves still echo your youthful memories. The fine light rain is beating the wakeful dream of the ancient city. I want to meet the girl with an umbrella again in the rainy lane. Missing the brush will also leave a wisp of fragrance of long hair. Looking back in an instant is so familiar and unfamiliar, just like the lingering affection in Jiangnan. No matter whether the years have passed through time or not, this misty rain tenderness has been printed on the affectionate heart like a season of flowers.
A roll of rice paper unfolds the old face of plain ink, and the black and white that has fallen into years has smudged out a long-lost picture, including hazy smoke, hazy rain, hazy street view, vague bridge, vague house and vague figure, but the person waiting on the bridge in the painting will never be forgotten in my life. That young flower-like smile, that delicate figure, that bright eyes and white teeth, that warm words are like incense, and they are fragrant with the passing years. Walking on the bridge and taking a boat together are not romantic storms, but also romantic customs. The storm has disturbed my deep yearning for you, and I have been cutting it all the time.
There is a curtain of misty rain in front of the melancholy window. Perhaps the fleeting time will be temporarily stranded on the homesickness of the past, but this humid temperature will sprout the sadness in memory. Past love and hate, ups and downs, like an altar of sealed old wine, brewing a bitter taste in my heart, I don't know how many lovesickness seasons will immerse me in intoxicating fragrance. Perhaps, one day, I turned white, and then looking back, everything in the past was so calm and calm.
At night, the past years reappear in dreams. It seems that the fleeting wind cannot blow away this sad memory. You always appear in front of you inadvertently. A book, a cup of tea, a piece of music, all have your taste, that lovely smile, that naughty little gesture, which is smart and warm in your mind. Close your eyes, there are tears in the dream, but the pillow is wet and romantic. The figure that has been tied for a lifetime lingers in the misty rain and suddenly looks back. The desolation and indifference of that turn can tell the tender homesickness with how many beautiful poems. Acacia is shallow and helpless, and a flower is planted in the rain of tears, echoing in Jiangnan Drum Tower. Can the fleeting storm really take away the sadness I miss you?
Fireworks are easy to be cold, bubbles are easy to break, and my heart is sleepless in the rainy night. The annoying flying catkins are asking for the entanglement of the wind. Whose loneliness is the trouble that falls on the ground? Listening to the bleak wind, listening to the sad rain, haggard and hazy guarding the lonely dream silence. Whose infatuation can't bear to turn around and smile, the classic gentleness has lost its unavoidable thoughts, staying, staying on the affectionate road reincarnation. I don't feel my feet hurt and cry, but my heart and dreams are broken in an instant. The smoke-filled ancient road, the late east wind, the late spring rain, and the galloping steed have prolonged the distant yearning and lost the fatigue of the sleepy. Who always refers to brush away, snubbing the alternation of seasons, changing the face of rivers and mountains, trying to hide the lost green, can only be lingering in the painting.