The best encounter is not when the flowers are blooming, the sun is just right, the breeze is not dry, and you are exactly what I like.
The best encounter is when you come out on the ice and snow, shaking off your youthful beauty. Behind you are thousands of spring feelings, your smile lights up the wind around you, and the fine raindrops are sprinkled in front of the flowers.
The best encounter has been the dormancy of time, the waiting of years, the immersion of wind and frost, the confusion of worldly taste, the expectation of floating water and light, and the joy of blooming flowers. Ting.
Who is holding an oil-paper umbrella, walking through the sentimental rainy season, stepping on the waterfront of time, and diving into the long rain alley, looking for an old dream that has fallen into the world of mortals?
Who took a small boat, cut through the cool moonlight, swayed through the frosty sky like water, and salvaged a period of disappointment in the hurriedly passing Chinese years.
The scent of the soul is a life-long poetry; the encounter in the mortal world is an expectation that time cannot repay.