The sky in January is vast and far away, and I don't know how many unknown expectations are hidden. Day, there is foggy snow, open your hand, quietly watching the snow fall on your palm, and slowly melt with the temperature of your palm. Far away, vaguely far away, is a place beyond the reach of dreams. Close your eyes, cold frost flowers slide down your face. ......
Let bygones be bygones, stay on the edge of the years, and suddenly, everything is different. Thousands of mistakes, thousands of expectations, condensed into melancholy injuries. Just ask the world of mortals, who will be there, and read it carefully. With a sad smile, you can only wander back and forth on the edge of dream and reality, guarding the insurmountable distance between heaven and earth alone.
The clouds have faded and the wind has gone. How many things, my brow memories. Writing such words may be a reminder of such a day. Gorgeous words are deceptive and desolate, chewing this shallow and deep pain alone. Brush and ink in the past, fade away thoughts, re-emphasize old feelings. Air flows along the pen tip, time rings in the bottom of my heart, leaving bitter hope and sketching out an unreachable picture. And I, with a fading dream, sleep in endless darkness every night.
Still alone with that persistence, floating in a vain dream. Perhaps, it is destiny takes a hand that there will be so many casual mistakes, and the accident has become inevitable. Lost and wandering hearts, deep sighs, are colorful traces, full of vicissitudes. In the world of mortals, I looked for many reincarnation, but in the end, I forgot what I was looking for. I stood in the broken walls of time, picked up the bits and pieces in my memory, and then hid them in poetic words to read the feeling of loneliness and detachment.
Stumbling into the dream, climbing the mossy stone steps and crossing the corridor of time, it was lonely, as if waiting for the agreement of the previous life, stubborn and focused. Such as lonely fireworks, just waiting for that brilliant moment. Open the door of heavy memory, half dreaming and half waking, intoxicated by the first beautiful song, a faint sigh echoed in my ears, echoing with thousands of words of pity and pity. Many times, I always say the same theme over and over again. However, a lot of sadness, always cut constantly, can not escape the memory, after all, learning will not be indifferent.
The cold chill is getting deeper and deeper From spring to winter, it is another cycle, autumn geese have gone, and the cold plum blossoms. Legend of the world of mortals, can we also call a curtain call? In a trance, vaguely emerged, so, continue to walk, saying the legend of the world, writing the words of the world of mortals. Hanging a cool smile, wandering in the dim light, drinking cold. Close your eyes, if a story is far away, how can you write a forgotten story? Watching the years go with the wind, the years are like water, singing and jumping in silent melancholy, with unspeakable loneliness, conceiving a tune that is out of tune.
Who has ever stood alone in the depths of the world of mortals? Who has ever seen a spring flowing eastward? The erratic and agile melody still cannot be indifferent, but how to draw a heart-warming period when the pen and ink are dyed again. It turns out that words sometimes dry up, so let them sink into the bottom of my heart forever, leaving no trace!
At this time, plum blossoms are fragrant and snowflakes are falling. With the peach, willow and cyan tones of Tang, Feng and Song Dynasties, with an unpolluted snowflake, stepping on the early poetry, quietly walked to the end of the world!
Plums in the snow are supposed to be out of season.
When it snows,
You are a word full of memories and warmth.
Air.
I can't do it at night and near midnight.
Seek asylum
What you borrowed from your cold eyes
New narrative
They come back to life in my heart like birds.
Wait in the snow, choose in the depths of the season.
Open.
I remembered May's attachment to you.
An idea
From a stone full of memories of the past
Difficult to ooze
Like the sound of steel in your arm.
Stretch or approach
How many times did it fall on that road than in the decoration?
Sorrow is ten times as long.
Imagine the snow in silence
The invisible process of infiltration into the earth
I thought of something that is still out of season.
May.
Just like the voice of love in writing is not farewell.
It's a word, it's a crystal, it's a gaze in a painting.
An inaccessible place
This is a kind of pain when reaching for fruit.