There is no moon.
No wind
Away from the city
I think of many shadows.
A story
This is an unforgettable pain.
A story
Will make countless nights sleepless.
All windowsills
Can't shut the wings of a bird.
The sky is hazy.
Tears are hazy. . .
Actually, I don't want to talk about it. In the dead of night, I can't help thinking about you. In my dream, you drove away my memory, which I can't forget and escape. What accompanies me is just a sad song, such as the ancient wind, and you are in a sad tone.
Colorful past is like a dream, and butterflies are caught in the leaves of life. Autumn has passed, and leaves-scrambling to fall, covering all traces of roads around, but forgetting-protect dying arms in the wind.
Life is a simple continuation, flowers and plants, for me, are not only lush and gorgeous, the wind swept across the wilderness, all lovers moved forward slowly, heard the whip, resounded through dry fingers. Everything does not return to the branches, but behind it is the snow that cannot be harvested.
Actually, I don't want to talk about it either. I remember the rainy day in my dream, and my heart was wet. You step on the rain and splash like a ship at sea. I greet you with a long surge of emotion. Then, waves appeared in my imagination, coming from your sea and heading for my mulberry garden. On the shore of acacia, can I row my figure into a sad boat?
I really want the beautiful hope to sublimate in my dream, but my heart is dizzy and I wake up in my dream. Perhaps, the broken mark is the road surface, not the wheel can be flattened, but you in the rain-just my illusion.
The road to the world of mortals is full of hesitation. Looking back blankly, sadness becomes a heartbroken landscape. Grasp the pain and make a lonely long journey.
My life is like a dream. In a distant day, I have long hair and saved all my thoughts, so my beginning is full of warm melody, and I let the gentle wind read it carefully in the quiet night. . .
In the sky, meteors cut through the desolate and empty galaxy, exquisite and empty. Why do people always emit distant blue light? With the warmth of infatuation. In front of me, there are always colorful dreams, constantly pulling the soul of the soul. On the water side, my blue boat can't carry 100 thousand tons of melancholy, a beautiful illusion, which often makes people miss life.
In fact, there is a true story under the distant sky. The river of memory rises slightly, and it is as beautiful as the spring breeze. That kind of beauty is a mirage extracted from the washed life and fixed in my heart. Even if it is only short-lived, I hope this inner passion can accumulate into the most dignified and meaningful warmth.
Therefore, whether in a dream or in a drizzle, savor the crystal clear sky, hoping to get out of the ranks of weak women who are hurt by spring and saddened by autumn in Sanmao's works. I can only write an unforgettable song on a moonlit night. I would like to be a dancing lotus fairy in Zhu Ziqing's works, with an inch of deep affection for nature in my light body.
At this time, I can feel my inner loneliness and think of some stories that belong to my mood in this complicated world. It is already an extravagant hope, hoping that the sky of fate-can embrace each other all my life, on the invisible shore-can feel it with my heart.
Actually, I hate to say it, but I'm alone. Without chasing, everything seems lonely, and I am even sadder. In this quiet moment, slowly appreciate and enjoy your every word. Maybe I shouldn't miss you, but you said that in your heart you already regarded me as your wife. We need to persist, we need to ignite the fire in our hearts and reach eternity. Imagine a mirage in the distance, waiting for us to meet. In this way, we live in tireless pursuit. Shake up the song and gently kiss the warmth of the dream. . .
Acacia travels far away, walking in a hurry, walking in deep years, the ancient sunset road, the thin horse in the west wind, the place with poetry, and the warm eyes in the distance. . .
In fact, I don't want to talk about it, so I miss you, let Lang Yue reflect, let Luo Ying flutter and let nature echo. . .
Actually, don't say it or not. . .