In shallow summer, there is no wind and no rain. We are silent, Enron, walking slowly in the four seasons of reincarnation.
Standing in Weiyang in May, looking back on the past, light up the past. Hide some of the warmth of meeting, erase some of the thoughts after parting. I just want to listen to the morning bells and twilight drums in the distance and send me bursts of Sanskrit sounds. I just want to sing the ballad of life with a smile and make life like a poem.
Light look, all the way colorful, gently decorated with fleeting dreams. We are happy, happy, pick up all the way, forget all the way. Is the five flavors of life, let us learn to be grateful in understanding, and learn to be compassionate in cherishing. This is the case when you meet, so is your parting.
Waiting for the text, some emaciated. No matter how hard you try, you can't make it. A ray of missing, as if still from the winter that a piece of white. In that far away place, there lives my plump loneliness. Pick up a petal that has just fallen, there is a ray of fragrance, deja vu. My quietly treasured Pingting, which once marked the starting point with crimson, gradually turned yellow in time. Those tangled plots, and those secrets that can not be told, have become a silent landscape, across the brow tip of the years.
Count the fleeting years, how many clouds and smoke in the past to now have become the memory of the past, has become a gradual whitening picture in time.
Life is a leaf of duckweed, scattered and impermanent. After the wind, frost, rain and snow, gradually learned to be calm, gradually learned to be at ease. The days are as beautiful as ever. Whether it is happy or sad, it will end up with nothing in the end. At that time, let's look through the old shadow of the past. Although there will be a moment of pain, it will always be as quiet as before in the light wind. The mountain is still the original mountain, the water is still the original water, revealing its own Qinghuan.
Everything can no longer be changed, let alone start all over again. In retrospect, those misses, those regrets, are really not worth mentioning. In the drifting away time, what is left, what is left, what has been loved, what has been hurt, will eventually become a stranger. No more, no trace to be found.
Some old clouds, or some new water, always pass through the lintel of time again in those lost years. Qingdai on the other side, the water on this bank. Always in every maple season, or the moment of blooming, looking back on the beauty of the past.
In your absence, I wandered with the wind for a long time. Outside the window, the shade is picturesque, the sun is shining, and the branches are swaying with the melancholy of passers-by. Once upon a time, the wind is the guide, the flower is the ferry, I write a thousand que songs for you. Looking back, tears overflowed from my chest. It should be the rainy season. I have no plum and no rain here. You have become my legendary white horse.
Miss you, as ever. Sigh the vicissitudes of life, who will appease? Xiao Sheng once was blurred by the smoke and sand of the years. The ferry is bustling, and we are all passers-by. If, one day, I accidentally disturb your purity, please don't blame me. A journey of wind and rain, a journey of mud, just because of the downstream, inadvertently floated to the shore with you.
Light has the years of love, there are dreams, there are flowers blooming. The poetry of the broken bridge and the snow is the picture I occasionally copied for you. If, one day, you no longer wander, I would like to wash all the lead Hua, Qingyi plain clothes for you, and quietly accompany you to write poems. Ren, several years in the dream, I will also stand as your favorite scenery, not stained with dust, not afraid of wind and frost.
Twist the breeze alone, watch a pear blossom win snow, boil a pot of peach red, the corners of your eyes hide the warmth of the years. The world of mortals in the fields, the wind and moon solo. Gazing at the moment, who is your return? Whose passer-by have you been? Miss, Man roll bead curtain. Those beautiful looking back, not only, in a hurry. Endless years of water trees, endless years of writing, picturesque years, endless deja vu. Cangsheng steps on the song, and the water is warm. One flower, one world, one leaf, one Bodhi.
After all, it is a woman who is somewhat silent. Do not like the complexity of the world of mortals, do not admire the prosperity of the world in a hurry. Only wish, full of compassion, quietly taste in the fleeting clear rhyme, a trace of Zen, wisps of quiet. Like, let a glass heart, with a warm appearance, smile with the wind and the moon, and flowers and plants.
Shallow line, there are always a lot of amorous feelings blown green by the wind, there are always many waiting to write the encounter into a reunion. Look up, there are a few rays of sunshine into your eyes. Open the wild growing season of Artemisia grass, comb it carefully, and turn it into a fresh rhyme. At this time, silence is better than sound. Looking back, imprinted on the traces of fleeting time, the words of desire also rest. Mind, in the twilight green gradually return to quiet.
Make a cup of tea with spring water and see the figure around you is still the same. In the style, ushering in the summer of thousands of charming, skirt flying. The blazing heat flowing slowly in the air, pale can not those profound thoughts and moved. Taking a sip of spring tea, I savor our inadvertent reunion in the fragrance of lips and teeth.
Looking back, the landscape is still the same, you are still smiling and silent. Accompanied by laughter, in the fleeting years open a brilliant warmth. Miss so long, but you are so close. Writing, the moment of ink, there is a song gushing from the bottom of my heart, if life is only like the first sight, I am still a woman like a lotus in your eyes! Turn around, cut a period of time, and plant the rest of your life. Allow me to accompany you with the feelings of cloud and breeze. How are you?
Walking, reading, writing, remember. It's a little insipid, and we don't need to refuse. There are many feelings that we don't have to say. If, one day. You can't hear me singing, you can't see me writing poems for you, I must be too tired. All of a sudden, I don't want to sing or talk. Those sighs in my heart, I don't want to tell you. But this is the most beautiful meeting, I will not forget, never.
Miss you, as ever. I hope you are better off than me! For the time being, let go of all the broken thoughts, allow me to miss quietly, quietly lonely, quietly indulgent. In the coming spring, perhaps, I will smile and hug you gently again in the first sight you give. If one day, time is far away, you and I are still here, let us know how to go through the vastness. I am still willing to wait like a poem through the distance of the world of mortals.
Words / glazed sparse film
Post a comment