Night cool, pick up the pen those left behind in the fleeting years of the cascading, withered worries, depicting the wandering time on Xuan paper. Helpless, but fainted with the mess encountered in a season, how much loneliness was hated by joys and sorrows of ink, and how much loneliness did the clutch turn around?
Youth leisurely, years leisurely, how much melancholy, turned into speechless, turned into red beans, how many memories can only become eternal memory. Time seems to have gone far away, stepping on the fine sand of the years to chase those who were speechless but regretful, the fragments of memory fell in the corridor of time, tingling the fragrance of the dream and omitting the ending of the story.
Flick the ink, worry to night, the memory of walking in the time gap is gently blown up by the breeze from time to time, shaking off the tender picture of the forgotten river bank, thin but thin in the poems of the Tang wind and Song rain, splashing ripples in the years. Aimless thoughts wandering in the exiled field, a trace of sadness wrinkled the tears of the past.
Gazing, the face of the season is still the same, the scenery is the same, but you have disappeared. Only those who were bounced off yesterday, lingering in the forgotten corner of time, remembering the tenderness in my heart, counting the last points of the past, there is always a lack of elegance. The imprint on the tip of the pen slowly brings the fragrance of the past, looking forward to wearing the smile as before. Pick up the pen and drop the word, but mistakenly into the memory, boil the word time and space, care about, turn to miss, but can no longer see the situation of you. Qinghuan in the dream, lost in love, cried a shallow summer, slightly tipsy Chenxiang season, hate a long song for a short, read Xiaoxiang a curtain of dreams, resentment deep, long memories, but also can not return to the scene of that year.
Wind, blowing across the courtyard, with a few drops of tears buried in the dust, when writing, the imitation, how many thin shadow caress Su Xian, cold moon Qinghui, the memory of playing is a bleak song. How many sad, wandering several times, these years of wandering time, was firmly carved by the scenery along the way, graffiti my half-awake youth, inadvertently, but infected with a memory of the mood.
Years go by, ignorant, unconsciously, thus become the domination of the fleeting years. With the passage of time, I also fantasized about drinking alone before a cup, drunken dancing a jagged variety of the world, rehearsing a colorful scenery. Just helpless, the dream is red flowers sigh, melancholy breeding, Jinse age has been old; shallow pen endowed with a new moon, do not fall half a green lantern sleep.
Time flies, and line and cherish, took away the story of the spread and growth of yesterday, the only thing that can not be brought away, may be those precipitated between the lines of the memory. Like the summer night, with a particularly distinct month, looking at the distant street lights, you can vaguely see those who once, dotted with shattered stars, cut up the back of the past, graffiti that touch of purples, scattered in sad and sad sentences, do not fall a piece of thick ink.
With the hazy moonlight, I seem to have returned to the youth of that year when I was mischievous. The memory shuttling through the gap is not very touching, there is not much sound of the waves, some are just slightly yellowing shoulders, and some are only those who have dried up. I walked ring after ring under the roots of the old tree.
For a long time, I like to immerse myself in my own story, but once I am moved by the plot in the chapter, I am no longer entitled to squander it; walking in the promenade of time, the out-of-date hug has no time to go to the rehearsal, it has been shelved in the shoal of memory, watching those drifting sadness, allowing the waves to roar, the clouds surging, unaware, completely unaware, completely unaware, do not dare to express half of the broken chapters, fill in a lonely, write out the fleeting hate.
Beating music, cut the reincarnation on the fingertips, on the scarred strings, sang the dust outside the dream of the next year, interpreted the wandering in the world of mortals, like Zen, through the fragrance of the years, sketched the lotus-like thoughts, reincarnation in the axis of time, half a blue lamp half sigh, no pious worship, no incense moved, there is only the sound of the morning bell and twilight drum accompanied.
Haunting in the ear of the bell, gently buckled the window of memories, opened the end of tears, for a long time do not want to leave. Across the missing movement, to leave the remaining warmth in a clear word, but in bitterness, lead Hua has to put on a heavy plain coat to recall and remember; the ripples in the anecdotes of fleeting years, to meet the initial surprise in the mournful and fettered journey. Fade the color of feelings, filled with curled up in the story, speechless choking, causing tears to roar.
Looking back, once in my life, I was drunk like a song; it is time to change. If you say that memory is a beam of light engraved in curved water mirrors, no matter how to figure it out, you can't make up a reflection of memories. However, why should it be cast into a path of thin sadness in the barren years. Read broken, broken; that blooming to the smoke of the past, but now it has long been scattered in the corner of the building outside the Xiyang building, that mottled youth, old age, but also emaciated.
Looking forward to the tight west wind, the thoughts between the eyebrows turned out to be so helpless. Sighing under the night, confiding under the stars, rolling up a place of sadness, desolate and speechless. Still stained with tears rain crazy, time secretly change smile thick ink, plain paper ink condensation grievances, that can be cold? Do you want to turn ink into a fool and become a gentleman? In a trance, cut off from solitude, shallowly scattered into war, run over to forget, do not leave a dark fragrance, look from afar, melancholy go, people are as thin as yellow flowers. Dream of tall buildings, wind transit, half a thin wine asked about the return period, drunkenness but smoke wave passing, Yunshui thin summer makeup, more sad and sad.
Prosperity has been exhausted, lingering in a corner of the world, but still can not get rid of secular obsession. Floating dream, escaped like a cloud, is so graceful, so light, although, can be far-sighted, but can not be close. The collision of youth, isn't it? Time several times of wind and rain secretly changed, looking back, is still mottled tears, wandering in the depths of the dust of the memory, but also can not subvert the sad and long time.
Breeze curtain call, wandering time and space, once again filled with the memories of waves ups and downs, Sanskrit hymns, elegant melodies under green lights. Talk about a long absence, holding a memorial to the beautiful dream that time is bound, fall into the beautiful and cold garden, let the tears poetic shallow summer, do not spend time, do not be too light.
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