How much warmth do you have to accumulate to resist the cold of a season? What kind of love and sadness should be precipitated from a vicissitudes of life before it can be unforgettable?
Lonely midnight, the lonely lights are on, reflecting lingering worries. Curtains rolled up in the west wind, like accusations, whispering vows.
The west window is white, and the cool moon is like snow. The Spring and Autumn Rebellion, thin and clear shadows, gaunt beauty with dark fragrance sleeves.
Who is stubborn in the reincarnation of past lives, and who is destined to struggle in the joys and sorrows of the world of mortals?
Caught off guard, I couldn't help falling. The taste of past lives is ethereal. If you don't look back often and have deep attachment, how can you confess and dilute your memory? Who will wake it up?
A person can't escape loneliness, and two hearts suffer repeatedly. Missing is tangled, and sorrow and joy are transformed. Take from each other and give to each other. Attachment to each other, torture each other.
The legend of immortality on Sansheng Stone is repeated in samsara. Like an old movie at midnight, it fades away slowly, but it will never end.
Dear, are those tears for you enough to make you give up your past life? Can those feelings that are frozen for me fulfill the warmth of this life?
Tell me, how many times does it take for a flying soul to break into a butterfly and fall back into your past life, your palm.
Tell me, how many times do you have to struggle before all the endings can be settled, cold and warm, sad and happy.
In the depths of Han Xiao, mutual care is silent. Your staring eyes are like the tide. Drowned the heartbreaking sadness and disintegrated the fragile resistance.
When I miss you, my heart is particularly soft, as light as water, dripping a bosom of sadness and digging out a few tender feelings.
Over time, you are like a tree on the shore, projecting clearly and guarding the warmth. The spreading branches and leaves are closely intertwined into endless yearning for this life.
The night is still early, and the dream remains. Acacia is like wine, and I don't know where to go when I am drunk.
At such a moment, I am eager to be a cigarette in your hand, as close as lips and teeth, and ignite passionate love with tenderness.
Give you a moment, touch my lovesickness, give me a lifetime, indulge in your confusion.
The classic Farewell to Cambridge is also ok.