In the early morning, you knocked on my window gently, wondering whether the distant you has returned. You always appear in the form of rain, with sadness and sorrow, making the taste of separation very strong and diluting the love and hate I miss you. Maybe this is the taste of you missing me, the tenderness of a misty rain in the south of the Yangtze River. , lingering with me all my life, intoxicated with my flashy dreams.
I met you again, it was an untimely spring rain, the drizzle was like silk, carrying the old dreams with stars, looking for that longing figure on the lonely street. The coldness that is within reach is your distant greeting, which accidentally awakened my sleeping memory. What is wet is a season, and what is wet is also my dream of missing you. Standing in the rain and waiting, it has been carved into a landscape. This gentle wind and this moist rain have held hands with my persistence and sinking in waiting for you.
A flower, a leaf, a bodhi, a word, a heart, a mortal world, a poem, a painting, a night, a song, a joy and sorrow, a loneliness. The past is like a dream, I want to drink but there is no orchestra, the lovesickness is gripping, exciting, confusing the heart, the wind is messy, the flowers are scattered, the restless heart is messed up, the silent rain is messed up, has the dreamy Jiangnan misty rain kept its promise?
With its small bridges and flowing water, and its white tiles and white walls, Jiangnan, like an ink painting, is always poetic in the mist and rain. The long rainy alley records the loneliness and loneliness. Will we still meet that girl who is as sad as a lilac? The weeping willows on the shore beat the endless stories told by the flowing water. The boat in the water is looking for its own direction. The oar makes circles of ripples, which then spread into broken dreams, each swimming towards distant memories. On the road, you will encounter a tree with flowers in bloom, and you may stop to take a closer look. The fragrance of the flowers contains the dream of missing you, and the smell of your past. All of this is close to the clouds and the flowers.
The years have wasted the dreams of memory, changing the focus of the past and the future. Only by walking alone in the rain can I feel your company. The longing of the oil-paper umbrella in my hand has become old and numb, but it still helps me cover the haggardness of time, but it cannot bury the lost youth. The mottled traces on the bluestone seem to tell the changes and changes in history. It is the people who get older, but the place remains unchanged. What is wet by the drizzle may be the dream of fleeting years, but it cannot moisten the longing for years.
A broken dream requires one to pour out sad words at night, a broken candle accompanies the thin silhouette, the sad rain outside the window bleaks into a piece of music in the wind, and the desolate sadness is like the "Butterfly Lovers" played by the violin. , sad and lingering, unable to cry. The peach blossoms in March began to wither after blooming, and the longing for lovesickness was staged as always. I wanted to bury that once gorgeous turn, but the tangled ivy is growing crazily in the tears-soaked silence. This thousand-year-old love is still lingering on the other side of the flower blooming. When can I end this tiredness that tortures the body and mind? . The dream of reincarnation always likes to linger in the amorous Jiangnan. That picturesque romantic encounter concerns the wishes of many people. I hope that this repeated performance can retain the beauty of this life as if it were the first time.
April is the most beautiful day in the world. It seems that this month is full of red flowers and willows that will never wither. It also hides the uneasiness in the change of seasons, as if it can only perform the most prosperous splendor. Seeing the drizzle again, the gentleness is still your cold hands. You caressed my haggard thoughts, and kissed the earth's hungry and burning lips. I want to be drunk in your moist arms, breathe the moist earthy smell with you, take a long and hazy walk, shoulder to shoulder with you, holding hands for this short romantic memory. The rain keeps falling, and what falls is the sorrow of lovesickness, the sorrow of infatuation, and the sentimental and implicit tears of lovers.
Open the window of my heart and see you secretly hiding behind the clouds and crying after a long absence. My heart is broken all over the ground for you. The green, fat, red and thin after the rain is a kind of silent and sad pain. , is the wound that cannot tear away the distance between lovesickness, and is also the metaphorical sorrow in poetry. Red and Green is a classic poem that has touched the loneliness in so many people's hearts and healed the sadness of so many people not knowing where their home is. The waiting in the city, the anxiety outside the city, and the tall secular city walls have become shackles that prevent emotional integration. But the rain will fall in the city and outside the city. This cold longing conveys infinite affection and unsatisfied sadness. No matter in or outside the city, if you are well, I will have a clear sky.
What is outside the window is humid and hazy, the sky is oppressive and incomprehensible, and the boring dryness is breathing heavily, longing for rain to fall to relieve the suffering of this period of time. I feel whose crystal teardrops are falling from the sky, with the coldness of sadness and distant longing, mixed with deepness in the calmness and noise, and shining with the passion of longing for reunion in the anticipation. This is an encounter with a rain. The green bamboo leaves hold your slender hand and dance in the wind. The beauty of water wearing wind clothes becomes a scenery that passersby look back on. The crisp sound of the piano played by you with your bare hands allowed the rhythm of big beads and small beads falling on the jade plate to form a perfect piece of music on the lake. The clear sound echoes a thousand-year longing. The lingering appointment with the West Lake is like a dream without waking up. The holding hands under the umbrella in the rain carved an immortal legend on the Sansheng Stone.
There will also be the fragrance of flowers in the misty rain in the south of the Yangtze River. It is light and light, as elegant as orchids. I don’t want to pursue its direction, but just want to hesitate and fantasize in this beauty. Look up, smile, and watch the silky drizzle blowing in the wind into a Tang poetry and Song lyrics, elegance and style in the song. The wind chimes under the eaves still echo the memories of your youth.
The thin drizzle beats the dream of the old city before it wakes up. I want to meet the girl holding the umbrella again in the rain alley. Missing the shoulder will leave a wisp of fragrance from the long hair. The moment I look back is so familiar and strange. Just like the lingering love in Jiangnan. No matter whether the years have passed through time or not, this misty tenderness has been imprinted on the passionate heart like a season of blooming flowers.
A roll of rice paper unfolds the plain old face, and the black and white that has been sunk by the years blooms into a long-lost picture. The smoke is hazy, the rain is hazy, the street scene is also hazy, the bridge is vague, the houses are vague, and the human figures are vague. But the person waiting on the bridge in the painting will always be an unforgettable memory for me. That green and flowery smile, that pretty and delicate figure, those bright eyes and white teeth, those warm words are like fragrance, fragrant with the passing years. Walking together on the bridge and crossing the boat together are not only romantic about the wind and rain, but also romantic style. The wind and rain are as messy as silk, messing up the sorrow of missing you, messing up the deep feelings that are still messy after cutting.
In front of the melancholy window with a curtain of mist and rain, the passing years may temporarily put aside the nostalgia of the past, but the humid temperature will sprout the sadness in the memory. The past love and hatred, sweet and bitter, are like a bottle of sealed old wine, brewing a bitter taste in the bottom of my heart. I don’t know how many seasons of lovesickness will be immersed in the intoxicating fragrance. Maybe, one day when I turn gray, I will look back on the past and everything in the past will be so calm and calm.
At night, the years of the past reappeared in my dreams. It seemed that the passing wind could not blow away this sentimental memory. You always appeared in front of me inadvertently, a book, A cup of tea, a piece of music, all have your taste. That cute smile, those naughty little moves, create warmth in my mind. Close your eyes, there are tears in the dream, but the pillow is wet with romance. The figure that has been entangled for a lifetime is wandering in the mist and rain. Looking back at dusk, the desolation and indifference that turned around, how many poignant poems can be used to express the tender nostalgia, the love is shallow, but the love is deep, and a kind of love is planted in the tears and rain. The flowers bloom fragrantly, and this sentiment of nostalgia echoes in the drum towers in the south of the Yangtze River. Can a fleeting storm really take away the sadness I miss you?
Fireworks are easy to get cold, bubbles are easy to burst, the heart is venting its painful sleeplessness in the rainy night, the annoying flying catkins are entangled in the wind, and whose loneliness is accompanying the troubles that have fallen to the ground. ? Listen to the desolation of the wind, the sadness of the rain, and the haggard haziness guarding the silence of lonely dreams. Whose infatuation is reluctant to turn around and look back with a smile, the classic tenderness thins out the unavoidable longing, stays, and stops in the cycle of affectionate past. Unconsciously, the crying of fallen flowers hurt under my feet, and someone's heart and dream were instantly broken. The ancient road shrouded in green smoke, the belated east wind, the belated spring rain, and the galloping horse have prolonged who's distant thoughts and lost who's sleepy fatigue. With a flick of his finger, he ignored the change of seasons and changed the appearance of rivers and mountains. If he wanted to cover up the lost green, he could only linger in the painting.