The snow is coming, and as the season promises, it comes floating in the air, bringing her dreams with it. Snow, like a fairy covered in feather gauze, sings and dances between heaven and earth. Snowflakes fall, and the mountains and rivers that have been silent for a long time have a different kind of agility.
I am afraid of the cold, but I love snow. Snowflakes give pure beauty and nostalgia to the cold winter. When the snowflakes are flying all over the sky, I just want to dream back to the long years of the Tang and Song Dynasties, hiding in the heart of the quiet time. In the quiet and pure white years, there is a love song about winter without sadness in my heart. A curtain of thoughts, flying together with the snowflakes
The flying snowflakes always have the charm of endless reading. Standing on the white snow, I suddenly felt that the world was so simple and so transparent. A sheet of pure white with crystal light kept washing my eyes and my heart. Looking up at the sky, I tried hard to find the three inches of heaven that belonged to me, and the tenderness of this other world.
In a quiet corner of this world, I quietly looked at the mortal world outside my heart. At this moment, all the prosperity in the world seemed to be alienated from me. I think this snow should have come from thousands of miles away to meet me for this lonely feast. Reach out, hug yourself, feel sorry for yourself, I talk softly to myself
How many times have I stood in the season of pear blossoms like snow, looking at you from the string song, I can't hear outside the city The horse's hooves are so good, but the only thing that responds to me is the wind passing by my thin shirt, and the falling raindrops wet every word and sentence in the ink.
The sky and the earth are vast, who is the shadow going to? Oh, today, I think that I am a paper kite flying in the sky, holding back the lingering pictures of the past with the distance of a thread. I wish I could perform a Dunhuang flying show in the snowy sky, fly away lightly with the snowflakes, and stay in the arms of my lover. From then on, like a lotus, the thoughts in the heart are paid to the strings of a harp, and the flowers bloom into one person for the rest of his life. The dancing style is charming and fragrant, and I will be wildly separated from you all my life.
Before I had time to tell whether you were fading in or out of this world, your figure had already waded away like the wind. I picked up the flowers and looked back, just to find a trace of tenderness in the world of mortals, but in the end they were just like the flying flowers on the branches, helplessly scattered all over the ground with the wind.
I also wanted to seal every scene about you in yesterday's dust, and no longer let my thoughts overflow. However, the hourglass of memory automatically turned upside down repeatedly, turning the increasingly moist thoughts into a city of sadness. .
The moonlight remains in the painting building, and the joy is no longer there. I wonder who will miss my broken and mournful harp and my gradually fading words after so many years?
I finally understand that it turns out that after you and I intersect like two trajectories, we will never be able to intersect again, and this distance is the end of the world!
Do you know? Every year when the lilac flowers bloom, I always wander in every lane you walk through, not to find your face, but just to find the fragrance you were obsessed with. Now, without you by my side, I can only place myself in a lonely world, listen to the sad music of a pipa, and walk alone with a promise on my back. The red maples have all fallen, but only poems can warm dreams.
The sound of falling leaves seems to be ringing forever in my ears. Among the mottled shadows of the years, who can see my lonely shadow crawling on the vast Gobi Desert?
Listening carefully to the sound of falling snow, I saw that what was falling in front of me was no longer snowflakes, but my withered heart. The blue bird must have really gone away, right? Otherwise, why would the sound of the Hong be cut off, the moon be dimmed with its cry, and the westerly wind be weakened by its cry?
Jun, is it possible that the sunset over the long river and the waxing moon at the border of the desert can no longer evoke your memories of the encounter on the ancient bridge in Wuzhen? Could it be that the misty rain in the south of the Yangtze River and the oil-paper umbrellas in the bluestone alleys can no longer encapsulate the love between your children?
I really want to put my hands together as a cup and use snow as a drink. One cup will drink up the past life, and the other cup will drink up the feelings of this world. In this way, maybe I don’t have to hold on to the sadness of not wanting to leave. , don’t care about the glitz of the world, don’t ask about the sorrow of falling red, no longer lean on the building to gaze, break the willow in front of the door; in this way, under my fingertips, maybe there will no longer be a frame of the vastness of the backlight, and a piece of water in the book. Mae Cang Mang.
The fragrance of half a note of flowers cannot be retained like water and dust. When the snow melts, the dream will surely dissipate. Jun, I really want to dance like I once did for you in the snow. However, today, no matter how I adjust the dance steps, I still can’t dance with the charm of that day.
I can’t hold on to time because the gaps between my fingers are too wide and time is too thin. The complex of reluctance, touched by the little thoughts, hurt the corners of the eyebrows. The snow curtain opened, and the plot of that day could no longer be reproduced, nor could it be reproduced. The wind of the past sings the sorrow between heaven and earth into a song of absolute melancholy. I can't break out of the rhythm of the past. I just trample the white snow to pieces, and the loneliness is painful.