Laughing at the flow of years, is how the best version of the scenery Ying Ying but gloomy. And how should I take the sail of a reed prisoner to your ferry? The color of life is gorgeous because of your appearance, and because of your departure and ink the end.
If one day you pass by my memory, please stop for a moment and give me a beautiful smile for that pool of sadness. No matter what I want or don't want, willing or unwilling, I can't stop you from leaving. All the way, lock the frown; all the way, leak the time.
Turning around, I can no longer find any trace of you. I am still your ferry, but you are not my station. The past, green with the passing years. That a touch of thick that can not let go, heavy engraved on the face, vicissitudes of the wrinkles of the years.
Who saw me with a lonely flip thin years, and who saw me on the road of memories alone? The fact is, I'm not able to get out of the shackles of the long-lasting love. The first thing that you need to do is to get your hands on some of the most popular products and services in the world, and then you can get your hands on some of the most popular products and services in the world.
Let the tears wet the silent night, but also let the scars into a thick callus. I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to get a good deal on this, but I'm sure I'm going to be able to get a good deal on this. The first thing I'd like to say is that I don't know what to do, but I'd like to know what to do, and I'd like to know what to do.
Disappointed and lost, there is a wind blowing chaotic past, actually lost that section of the chapter of love. The messy memories are exhausting. I'm not going to look at the direction it's going, I'm not going to stop thinking about it, I'm going to stop thinking about it.
The moonlight from the window sill is scattered in the room. The distance between the heart is longer and longer, and the pale memories are still greeted with spring flowers, autumn and moonlight. The most important thing to remember is the fact that you can't afford to buy a new one, and you can't afford to buy a new one without it.
Far away from the once-flamboyant, so far, broken heart no one to take in, so far, you are my life in the passer-by, I am your journey on the scenery, beat the horse whip, each running to their own journeys.
You and my love for this as yellow love letters, the drop is not in the Chi I I ......
The vast space is dotted with stars, the moon reveals its milky white face, sprinkling the silver-gray light to the earth, the starlight straight down, unusually bright
I stood in the endless wilderness, gazing into the distance. In this moonlit night, thinking of you, thoughts like waves in the ocean, a wave, a wave, undulating and diffuse. Thoughts in the heart of a wisp stretched to the sky. I keep thinking, what is it? Let me so persistent? In order not to let themselves alone, so that the lonely heart filled with the support of love? And keep asking myself: for what? Let me keep a broken dream? Or are you leaving me too deep? Deep down to the bottom of the heart, touched the strings of my love that has been sealed for a long time? What's the matter? Under the vast starry sky, all things on earth are sleeping soundly in their dreams, and the moonlight flows with serenity and contentment. The leaves on the river dam rustle in the evening wind, and the river flows quietly with sparkling waves. A few fishing boats moored at the river, the masts emit a dim light, hidden in the shroud of the night. The sound of crickets chirping came from beside the brush grass. The view was clean. At this point, my mind was so restless.
I silently walked towards the bank of the Lanhe River, eyeing the river side of the night market receded from the hustle and bustle, without the commotion and noise, surrounded by a million voices. In the dark night, the flowing water sleepless, evoking my endless thoughts of tears, I let the tears wantonly overflowed out of the curtains, dripping, moistened shoulders and neck, sliding down the chest soaked my underwear. I cried to the night, crying out the desolation of my heart. I cried to the river, shouted out my heart of the dust,, the cry broke through the quiet night sky, played a melancholy vulgar song, a heart of sadness obsolete tune, a romantic and poignant ballad, and echoed in the end of the wilderness.
I mortar and pestle in the river dam, I do not know the wind, is blowing from that direction, pulling the wings of my thoughts, flying up, flying to the depths of the mind dream. Thoughts flying over the top of your roof, trembling down a piece of child feathers, feathers wrapped in a drop of glittering teardrops, gently, slowly, sliding down to your window, as if afraid of waking up your warm dreams, quietly. The fine wind slightly lifted the curtains, the gap in the curtains, there is a familiar face, murmuring in a leisurely dream, snoring slightly smile, a slight snore in the throat nuisance sound. Each of your voices seemed to stagnate in the condensed air. Tears seep through the feathers staining the edge of the windowsill, and suddenly a crisp sneeze rises from you and a warm breath follows, the feathers being whisked off into the dust of the night. All around a silence, silence, only, the missing drop of tears is still on the windowsill, such as fireflies in the grass flashing weak awn point,,.
I followed the thoughts, thoughts followed the wind, the wind all the way to pull up my thoughts, flying to the top of the mountain. At this time, the early sun has been through the mist, illuminating the pinnacle of the quiet people. At the top of the high look in all directions, the cliffs, the wind is awe-inspiring. The upright cedars are waving in the wind, and the sea of clouds is vast. Clear sky clear and blue, presenting a picture, immaculate landscape, extinct in the world above all, instantaneous feeling, but also a permanent feeling, is a sense of peace, is the serenity of the heart, is the spirit of the comfortable. A party of different colors, uncovering the sky full of sleep, waking up the four corners of the bright sun,,.
On the top of a high mountain, I planted an acacia kapok tree, when the sun wind swept by, the kapok blossom scrambled to bloom, jumping to embrace the sun wind coming. Silver moon and starry sky, branches on the large kapok, without the accompaniment of green leaves, brightly colored like fire, like a red lantern hanging on the branches, with the gusts of wind swaying swinging, like the navigation of the standard lamp, guiding the geese to the north and south, whenever the geese flew over the top of the mountain, will stay in the kapok tree to rest for a while. Red cottonwood petals as if the heart of the love of love, telling a passionate admiration for the love of love. The moment the geese spread their wings in the air, sent my thoughts of the microtext, the sound of geese into all my thoughts, geese all the way to wail, the seeds of my thoughts sown in the mountains and jungles, Gobi Beach, snowy plateau, lakes, oceans and seas.
Red dust in the sky under the floating face of your smile, from now on, to remember you mind to the depths of my memory. Even if time forgets the dome of the sky, forget forever, the years have changed to move, you are still my thoughts in this life. Looking up: the sky is above my head. Look close: the sunset is on the body. Look down: the sea of clouds is on the mountainside. From afar, everything is lush and green. What I can't touch and see is: thoughts are in my heart, and the person I'm thinking of is far away
Meeting with you on the streets of the world's chaos,
Treading on your shadow, I walked quietly on the shore of the lake embankment.
Get ready to risk the world to chase an eternal dream,
Even if you are lonely and isolated, it is still a crippling joy.
Turned into a splash of colorful clouds riding on the wind of the sun,
Borrowing a teardrop to roam into the starry sky of the dream.
Thoughts originate from the moment of the wave heart in the past,
it will disappear at the end of my future life,
until I decay and turn into dust.
Life is a dream and a wake-up call. A joyful one, a sorrowful one. The first time I saw this, I had to get together with my friends and family and I had to get out of the house. The rose is like a dream, blooming in the butterfly of love. Only the watch, bring the most beautiful memories deep in the memory, constant temperature lasting. Because of you, only let my heart with the thoughts fluttering, and enjoy the splash of that long ago love silk. Because of you, let alone forget the loneliness, thoughts such as aged wine, in the watery years precipitation out of the rich fragrance. Although the feelings of sadness, but I gladly accept the pain of the beauty of thoughts, in the world of thoughts, to find a different flavor and beauty.
The top of the mountain, look at the world of thousands, all kinds of colors. I stand in the wind and waves, let the four waves tear my clothes, let the eight winds tear open my thoughts, let the clouds in my surroundings change rapidly, get the posture of the multi-dimensional. Thoughts such as the old, such as flotsam and jetsam, silken threads spread in the heart of the sky road. Thoughts of the heart, still the heart of the chest stirring open-minded, remember to store the moment of good heart. Life is short, a blink of an eye, an instant to the end. Do not count the gain and loss, meet and rub shoulders, margin to margin to go, margin gathering and scattering, time and situation change. Originally, the gathering and dispersal of life is like floating weeds. Where are the eternal things? Who did not see, there is only a kind of engraved feeling, hidden in the depths of the heart, retained to the life of the eternal. Cherish the beauty of the heart, true love! Learn to do, what is silent watch, "with a lifetime of infatuation and obsession, to keep a lifetime of thoughts and attachments, to keep their own love, adhere to their own obsession, in their own pursuit of the world of intoxication, fall,,."
The kapok tree stands proudly at the peak of the East, the crimson petals meet the rising sun, reflecting the red mountains, the sea of clouds, the earth is covered with a layer of golden waves of light, with the pace of the sun ground all the way to the place where you are. The larks are singing, the flowers and grass, the joy of fitness, the air is clear and fresh. I am free to drop flying thoughts of feathers, such as a piece of flying upside down hanging crystal blue wave waterfalls, in the ever-changing world, still across the mid-air brilliant rainbow around the top and bottom of the angel's tears jade round pearl Ming, colorful, flying chaotic sprinkles. Not subject to the steam of sunlight, not subject to the drag of the moonlight tease, the sun shines on it, it is still like a jade liquid gold wave, crystal clear. When the sky is dark, it is still like jade jade snow, one after another.
You are the wind of the sun, hastily a moment, swept the earth dust wind smoke. I am a grain of sand, along with the shadow of the sun wind, in the world of thoughts, to chase a never-ending point of convergence. I put the day drops in time flow, no sound, no shadow. Thoughts of the sour bitter, heart bitter, tired bitter, hurt bitter, I certainly with a smile to savor it, than indifference and tastelessness is a hundred times better. A mouthful of bitter water is better than a cup of white swallow soup, and a painful cry of lovesickness is better than mourning and forgetting.
Standing in the wilderness, "looking towards the east and looking towards the west with no boundaries,
Standing on the seashore, looking towards the north and south with no clue,
Standing on the mountains, looking towards the down with no return,
My pining heart doesn't know where to go down to.
Even though a strange light strips me of all my trappings,
nothing is left,
I greet the snow, rain and wind with my naked body,
and my heart remains the same.
Even though the vicissitudes of life weather all my flesh and blood, limbs and bones,
The soul remains,
Sprinkle my splash of ashes on the earth to fertilize the flowers,
Thoughts still grow.
Time is like a small boat drifting in the green years, carrying on it our budding youth, and as time passes, it ferries us from the early morning rain to the subdued dusk, ferries us from the darkness of the night to the dawn, and leaves our unrepeatable childishness in the distance, departing towards June, sailing towards the season of graduation.
When writing again as an outsider to the youthful bravado of graduation, I realized that a year has passed since we left last year. That stands at the foot of the hill of the old school, with fireworks sent us away, and this year will send away a new batch of eager to fly teenage girls, every year immersed in the June sentimental it, whether or not it remains the same? Think about once, the fiery youth burning us, put down how to memorize can not memorize the literature, throw away has been dragging behind the English, hate to tear up the math, sneaky dike to prevent the teacher's driving also want to give our closest partners to write down the graduation message, every word shows the true feelings, every language, have left an unresolved ties, every page recorded a little sadness。。。。。。
Will you who are about to graduate think the same way we do and walk the same path we have walked? And classmates get together, go to the scenic spots to take pictures, walking aimlessly in every corner of the campus, counting the blackboard conspicuous "countdown to the college entrance exams", watching it relentlessly reduce, deep inside the indescribable nervousness, excitement and sadness.
I wandered in the campus once desired, as if I saw myself once, sitting on the seat by the window, leaving sweat also in the also in the review, the feeling of that time really can not find, now I, only loose, only sigh!
You are about to graduate, of course, there is an important thing, that is, immature has been repressed in the heart of the unknown emotions need to be expressed, whether success or failure, are no longer important, the important thing is that it has accompanied us through thousands of days and nights, giving us great comfort in the spirit of saying goodbye to the day, how can we not meet each other, and how can we really hold hands forever!
Once again and friends stroll through the campus, because every section of the road here, there are traces of our walk, every blooming flower, there are memories that can not be wiped away, to leave the sentiments here, the dream on the back, with an undaunted mind, fly!
All have to leave
Youth will eventually break up
Lost things can not come back
But there are some things that we can take it away
In our life trajectory to play the eternal mark
Not the face of sadness, it is my teenager; not anxious eyes, and so on the years to change.
Little blessings to you.
The rain came with such ferocity that it mutilated the flowers all over the ground and turned them into rain that flowed into the distance.
Rain, always entwined with the human state of mind, love or not love rain, depends on the state of mind. However, the love of flowers, seems to be the nature of every woman, and the rainy season has nothing to do with, with the state of mind has nothing to do with, with the years also has nothing to do. It's just that the rain, the flowers, and the women, they can't help but be entangled in each other!
Overnight rain continued to beat, it completely forgets the existence of all things in the world, forget all the stories, just a hard beat, falling, perhaps venting, perhaps indulgence, or perhaps in the pain of crying ...... He is completely unaware that he has broken the flower coat, stirring up the woman's calm heart.
The woman walked in the rain washed full of muddy path, rolled up his pants legs, like a farmer, some complaints, but look at the side of a cluster of beaten scattered flowers, and only pity. The woman bent down to pick up a petal of the flower in the rain and placed it in her palm, yet kissed it with the remaining warmth on her lips. The flower still had a lingering scent, but it was heartbreaking that the flower was already crumbling.
If the rain is sentimental, the rain is compassionate, if the rain is not sentimental, the rain is even more sorrowful. That is full of rain wantonly knocked, by the water arbitrarily impact of the flowers, broken, I do not know where will be floating? They can only believe in destiny, or perhaps they also desire to save a little flavor, to be which passers-by in a corner will pick it up, and then treasured, perhaps there really is a passer-by, no matter how forlorn flowers, how wretched, because of the like and will be treated as a treasure, and slowly play with the flavor.
Thinking of this, the woman's furrowed brow relaxed a little. She turned her attention to the cluster of flowers that were still being beaten by the rain, and then reached out her hand to caress these remaining flowers with the lightest force, as if she was afraid that the flowers would inadvertently fall again without a single petal; afraid that this last dream would also be shattered, drifting away with the rain.
The rain is hitting the flowers, the flowers fall; the rain has no intention, the flowers have feelings, how to enjoy the flowers in the rain is still sad.
For you, I would like to gather a sleeve of flowers, guard a city alone, and enjoy a lifetime of loneliness, even if the sound of the heart is weeping and no one is listening, even if the messy footsteps scattered a land of heartbreak.
--Title
Looking at the door of the willow like snow, the memory of the floodgates open again.
Changing into a long white dress and putting on a pink scarf, I came to the edge of the South Pond.
Before my eyes, the peach blossoms were in full bloom. A gust of wind blew, and the petals fell to the ground, touching my heart.
This thing, this scene, how can I not teach people to miss you?
Can't help but step forward, gently fold a branch of peach blossom, pick one, inserted into the hair bun. I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to do this, but I'm going to be able to do it," he said.
Remembering that you and I met here today, the garden full of peach blossoms for us to smile; remembering that year, that month, that day, you and I, the face of the peach blossoms reflecting the red.
Who expected, the sky has unpredictable storm clouds, a gale sweeping came, the wind over, flying peach blossoms, falling like rain. The reddish color, stained the alley, but also messed up my mood.
From then on, under the lonely lamp, I was alone, with the heart touching the memory of the heartbeat under the peach blossom tree, the pen gazing thoughts, and the lonely sadness.
Love, once started, the end of the world is at hand; love, once rubbed shoulders, at hand is the end of the world. This is the world's heavenly gift to me a joke? In me, the so-called happiness in this world is not only stay in the peach blossom dream?
A river of flow, locking up the red face of who?
A light makeup, whose haggardness has been covered?
Who's heart has been broken by a paper dream?
Who's fragrance has been scattered by a storm?
They are the only ones who have ever been in a situation where the sun is shining, and they are the only ones who have ever been in a situation where the sun is shining.
Dreaming of a double leaning, waking up alone weeping. The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on some of the most popular products and services in the world. The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on a new one, and then you'll be able to get a new one.
I have forgotten how many days I wore a mask, forced a smile, pretending to forget the reality of the real; I have forgotten how many nights I wandered on the edge of the dream, searching, looking for a tenderness that can soothe the wound.
The window sill of my thoughts, though lonely, is still my favorite.
This life, this heart, this love, only belongs to you. How can I continue the love story of my life without you?
Who in the red dust popped down the Ling Ling soul of the heart rhyme, loving soul y hidden in the three worlds of infatuation?
Do you know? The year after year, year after year, to you my heart still, as that year that month that day that minute that second. The other side of the river, the smoke wave flow, you, whether it is also like me waiting?
You don't go after, when I walk in the bustling streets of the busy city, a similar voice, a similar back, will always make me have a moment of disorientation.
In the night of longing, I often like to show a piece of paper, sitting quietly in the night alone. More often than not, I will lock myself in a silent world, do not care whether the flowers and plants are luxuriant, do not care whether the season is warm and cold, I only in my mind repeatedly replayed once warm and touching fragments, only to try to search for memories of you, try to will your breath. Then, alone in the heart of a pure land, so that the morning and evening of the love are transformed into the white lotus flower of the plain language, blooming into a season after season of pure white.
It is said to be the most beautiful April days on earth, but now I failed to live up to the spring rhyme and color, standing alone in the forest alone, godless gaze swaying with the wind into the thinning of the green smoke.
Today, I'm still guarding the lonely town, listening to the lonely river rhyme, writing the lonely poem, waiting for the bluebird to pass by.
Before, the wind blew slowly, brushed my sad face, from the corner of the eyebrow slid down the bottom of the heart, gently plucked the heart strings have been broken, long time no tune, only caused the heart of that a sigh of relief raised and fell, fell and raised.
The clouds are flying apart, and the light is slanting through the house. Outside the corner of the curtain, the wisteria frame flowers in a string next to a string, vine tangled, shadows, quietly lagging down a ground of spring light. The spring swallows returning to the north are not to be ashamed of such a good time, such as a long silk thread connected together. Hurriedly through the curtain and passed, as if to run to who's date. One, two, three ...... silently counting, counting, but gradually flew into a, faded in the corner of the eyebrow. Put down the corner of the curtain, sitting alone, empty to the glass issued by the curls of light fog out of mind.
Grass and green spring and return, verdant color superimposed on the brow, murmuring, full of spring who is the main, why every year to hate the ghost? The sky is full of grass, and the sky is endless. Who will be able to lean on the fence? Lightly chant, "a new lyrics a cup of wine, last year's weather old pavilion." Yes, the stars have changed, the flowers will bloom again, where are the people? The same song and wine, the same pavilions, but there is clearly a trace of indescribable despair, how can not give birth to the "inexorable flowers fall, déjà vu swallow return." The company's website is a great place to find out more about the company's services, and to learn more about the company!
A person looking in the mirror, smiling, that smile is so far-fetched, so inappropriate! Today's face pretty, tomorrow, the day after ...... how many "déjà vu" days in the gaze quietly passed ah! Obviously know that all the empty sighs just futile, sinking regret lingering also does not help, with a little sadness, everything is bound to fade away. Still contend, life can be a few times spring?
"Nothing can be done!" How ironic word ah, heart, if the temperature of the cup in the palm of the hand a little bit cool. Can not help but think of that sentence, there is a bird, flew through the air. In a moment, it returns. But it is no longer the same bird. This is the day. The returning swallows are so much like our old acquaintances who made their nests here last year! But why does it go and come, and who perceives the irreversible subtle changes between the coming and the going? The first thing I want to say is that I'm not going to be able to do that.
Who changed our days? I think there should be a black box, will all the flow of light quietly loaded up, and then the key is hidden somewhere. It should be, otherwise, how can there be a lingering sense of déjà vu? Somewhere, sometime, some moment, it sneaks the key into our palms, opens the magical box, and the wandering traces escape. When we are immersed in a world of disorientation, it will be our blank moment quietly loaded up, quietly closed. Leaving us standing in an empty room, not knowing what to do. Gone, gone forever, a few lines, a few drunkenness, a few stays, in the end it is just an illusion.
To find the old spring, gently pushed open the door, light cold spring wind blowing off into the line of teardrops. The first thing you need to do is to get your hands dirty. I don't know when, the sky mist thick clouds, the more pressure lower and lower. Is it sensed the mood of the disillusioned? Standing in the depths of the shade, a string of flower spikes containing smoke and drink dew, edge of the wood and up, hanging branches, such as the woman's drooping sideburns, as a string of wind chimes, no, it is not like the wind chimes due to the wind disturbed by the disturbance and disturbed, so quietly circling, gradual deep and shallow bloom, as if to open up to the end of the earth and the sky, will not give up.
Looking at the wisteria flexing and meandering volts, I can not help but search in my mind over and over again about the memory of the wisteria. Inexplicably have a kind of déjà vu impulse. Where have I seen it before? Right, it is that campus speech contest in their own recitation of the piece, can not help but come out, "never seen such a full bloom of the vine, only a lavender, like a waterfall, hanging down from the air, do not see its beginning, do not see its end, just deep and light purple, as if in the flow, in laughter, in the unceasing growth ... ... ... "I don't know whether it is the attachment to the purple, or the fondness for that good time, each word is still fresh in my memory, oblivious to the intoxication in this if a waterfall straight down the purple precipitation, purple heart, spreading on the vine, flowing, drooping ...... station In place, trance back to the past, really will still go?
The wisteria is beautifully self-concerned, densely blooming, completely disregarding the wind and rain play clouds, cloudy drift roll. Yes, know what? The will always come, the will always go, as well as to enjoy the bloom of this moment of charm. Drunken leaning on the green shade, soft and loving, cloud wood end, wind pressure light clouds sticking to the water fly, mood, gradually become lighter, become shallow, become lighter, if the splash of water, into a piece of streaming clouds, sweet smile.
If life is only like the first time, what is the matter of the autumn wind sad painting fan?
It is not easy to change the heart of the old man, but the old man's heart is easy to change.
The LIXIL mountain speech to stop half of the night, tear rain zero bells will not complain.
How can I be as lucky as the man in the brocade coat, who wished for the same day to have wings and branches?
--Title
Love is the most splendid illusion in life, too confusing, sometimes, walk through the end of the road, but also do not want to wake up. Once a person loves, a heart can turn a thousand times, like the Jiangnan water town of the small river, bending diffracted countless lingering to; once not love, there is also the Yellow River water in the sky to the break and surging.
Love, in a moment knocking on the door of the heart, the heart of the fireworks bloom. After a long time, many people and many things are fuzzy when we still remember love, is to remember the person in love, or that moment of splendor like clouds of pleasure? They can't be erased, and the emotion makes people "once the sea is hard to water, except for the witch mountain is not cloud".
The curve of our life is so winding that we can't see the end. However, sometimes, find things around us: a tree of the Tang Dynasty flowers, a Song Dynasty building, a Ming Dynasty clock, a Qing Dynasty chair, a wine, just fifty years ago buried wine, if they are willing to, can be obtained than our more distant existence. Standing in the middle of a city square, seeing the sun slowly set, the people coming and going disappearing, that door closing, and us acting as if we had never existed at all.
The fireworks will not let anyone know how warm the dust it turns into is. It would rather leave a field of cold visions, a field of brokenness. If you mourn, you can mourn for it, but you can't change its persistence. Why pity it? The fleeting splendor of a blossom, just appearing once is already possible. The desolation itself is a reservation. Because of the silence, you will never understand what kind of deep as the sea of emotions it contains.
We, born and bred to say that the love of each other, still not tired of fulfillment. It's a good thing that we're not. Because of the impermanence of the world, all sentient beings, I have not yet boiled red beans for you into a lingering wound, the beauty of the good times have not been appreciated, how can I let go?
People say seawater is deep, but not half as much as the love, seawater is still there, love is not shore.
They are the first to be able to do so, and they are the first to be able to do so, and they are the first to be able to do so.
Love, need tolerance, but not indulge. So, once you find a man change of heart, let go of it, if there is that temperament can also be my broom, sweeping their own door, sincerely please him, forever - no longer visit.
If the sun shines in the morning, you and I still have nothing in our hands, please don't despair, for me to cherish. Even if, when you say goodbye to love, I hope you are all right; I no longer love you when, perhaps not I do not love you, just, I can no longer love you. The mountains are not pronged, the river is exhausted, winter thunderstorms, summer rain and snow, heaven and earth together, but dare to break with you. Sometimes love just loses out to life and death, time, and desire.
Not heartless, not thin, but we will meet a lot of people in his life, really can stay stopped and how many? The life is a deserted crossing, and even we ourselves are passers-by. Now no longer stubbornly determined that a person's life only love a person is worthy of praise. In the fairy tale, the prince will always love the princess only one person, that is a fairy tale, to retain the purity. The reality is that both the princess and the prince have grown up slowly, and people will drift apart from each other. The castle has withered and the pink roses have long since begun to lose their color.
Looking back, the person is in the lights. We most often see the result is: finally - to understand to look for the person when the water, the lights, has been empty. This love can wait to become a memory, just at that time has been confused.
The green veil and the blue shadow of the hair is so beautiful that it falls off the walls. The wind is blowing, the water is wrinkled, the marsh is running, the bridge is broken, and the umbrella has not been removed from the wind and dust, and the shoulder is floating in sorrow. The diamonds are empty and thin, and the red paper does not exhaust the sadness of love and sadness. The wind has passed the voice of the cold islets, the rain scattered tears pupil.
Jade sleeves light cold, the piano rhyme soft sheep, face like water to cause you pity. The embroidered pavilion incense residue, the word scrolls haunted the smoke, why the deep love of the dust is shallow. If Ye waved his hand, withered a paper flourish, the rain chanting dance, withered a full court of residual flowers. Who in the dream show a volume of hand in hand with each other painting, drunken red face delicate heart, a scene of the night and day, left behind the body of the piano mute.
The green shirt and hair, grinding ink splash, flowers in the rain, combing hair in front of the mirror, you can remember that scene of illusionary dreams smile cheeks. The cold crows in the dead trees, the wind whisked the clouds, a song in the fog how to change the elegance of the past. The old road is thin horse, look through the eyes of the dust sand, the military horse lightly trekking, cross flute urged to break the frost Hua.
Dust, sword, rain, blood zero, the three-life agreement, a hundred years to meet, the sand field murmur, who is negative that a life of tenderness. The sky outside the flying flowers, whose tears drop down the wind and sand, broken a ground of love words of dependence. Broken bridge to wave goodbye, for Yi to keep a lifetime of flowers, the green veil to give, with the gentleman alliance booking a thousand years of warmth. The night is dark, the wind is quiet, whose soul is transformed into a dream in the rain, but also Yi three lifetimes of the song end.
By the wind and the moon, warm a pot of wine, a song of sadness, the broken bridge, waiting for you to return to the eyes. Day after day, year after year, snow falling rain, flowers Xie incense disappearance, the flow of years haggard as water face, wind up night quiet, who still lock face sleep, want to talk but weeping.
Flower face tired, fine water, smoke still lay down, buckskin soul with yarn also. The wind rolls the residual smoke, the fog covers the green shirt, who's footsteps sink into the forgetfulness of the river for a long time to linger. On the night of the wind, who is smiling and charming, floating into the deep courtyard of the fragrance dispersal, kissing the face with tears. The lights are dimmed, the moon is converging, a thousand years of love can not be a dream pouring back, full of paper ink residue, Road can not exhaust the heartache of the next life. The rain fell lightly, the flower dream scattered, who could not bear to tease the eyes of the pair of deep love, but had to turn around and flutter.
It's just that the bridge is so shallow, so why is every moment of eager anticipation only returned to the glimmering eyes of the other side. The rain wet the paper fan, the wind cool wine warm, that a picture of the unfinished scroll, who will pen pen ink ink research all red dust into floating smoke. The dust of the world, only wish you sound concubine pick string, deep cabinet singing laugh at the evening. Deep love, can not afford to burn the silence of the heart to die, flowers, weaving incomplete acquaintance of the lingering, for you to touch a song of parting love, to wait until the flowers bloom on the other side with a smile and then continue the unfinished business.
The incense couch is cold, the candlelight is leisurely, who dialed the strings, woke up a world of dreams, falling tears full of paper. The court flowers, incense disappears the tip of the pen, the rain finger, who messed up the gentleman's hair, blood stained a green shirt.
Wishing you all the best in your endeavors, I'd like to see you back at the Broken Bridge with an umbrella. The court of the residual flower fragrance has not been dispersed, under the moonlight to put the lamp song broken.
Before the window, the water is cold and smoky, the green veil hides the smiling face, the night is dark, the flower is sleepless, the sound of the piano scattered the warm incense. The first thing you need to do is to take care of your hair, and then you need to take a look at the hairpins, and then you need to take a look at the flowers, and then you need to take a look at the flowers. Butterfly dance to the end of the world, broken bridge flying flowers, that a piece of paper dust dream fell out of the who's splendor.