Time makes people old, and the appreciation of modern poetry is frozen.

In May, flowers are everywhere.

But, my flowers

But it withered prematurely.

Look at the flowers and kiss the lilacs.

Heart, but it hurts.

Those surges galloped in the wind, but there were more worries.

Flowers wither and fly, rain and smoke fall.

Sudden promise, or, unspeakable pain.

Life, instant fireworks, years flowing, mostly sad years?

How can a silly person save you?

Yellow rain, how much sadness, how much melancholy.

In a blur, my eyes have long since disappeared. How can I pick up the stars and point them at the moon?

Past years, time? Space? It's beyond repair

Past people, time? Space? Playback is no longer possible.

Why are you so troublesome? Why grieve for heaven and earth?

-prequel

Kapok has been disabled, incense has died young, spring with flowers is long gone, and my heart has dried up inexplicably. This season, time is ruthless, or this is the swaying universe, and the barren should always be affectionate. The last light of the sunset. Gradually, don't go to Xishan, it becomes an arc and disappears in the mountains thousands of miles away. The swirling clouds in the sky have dyed the night sky red. Drunk thoughts also dance with the wind, scattered around the world and filled the sky. The moon has appeared, hanging in the treetops, shining brightly. Spring has passed, and now, the night sky in Xinglang yunzhu is the world of summer.

God, why are you always in the dark? It tells us that the moon exists.

Water, why did you wade across the river in the dark? It tells us the passing of light.

What about me, people of three thousand worlds, the dust of the universe, what should I perform and what should I flash?

The moonlight has filled the desk. The cup of hot water in front of me, with a little warmth and cold light, tried to pull back the wandering thoughts. Wind, why are you furious at night? Those lonely smells in the air, with the desolation and cold at night, froze that rare warmth and abused a broken heart. In the vicissitudes of life, why did you forget and why did you weep? The tenderness of that life has long been deposited in my memory, you know?

What a stupid person! How can I save you and leave you in a secluded place, bathed in fire and waiting for your nirvana?

Tears blurred my eyes for 500 years? People in nothingness are happy and happy for what. Ignorant I always don't understand. Then why, then why, time is always so casual, breaking youth and breaking face. Five hundred years? Years have washed away the lead, and there are many winds and frost in the fleeting time. Why do people cry and mourn?

Leaning against the window bar, I stared at the moon shadow, the quiet moon, mottled tree shadows, dim lights and sometimes a few insects. It's another sleepless night, and the stars are shining in yunzhu. The sky is like water, swaying with the shadow, wandering with a touch of sadness.

What a silly person! Raise your hand in spring and leave it in autumn. You know how many years you have missed, don't you understand? Those memories of the past have long been left in the dust of the earth with the wind. Do you know how many flower seasons have opened with the passage of time?

You are heaven and earth, why are you sorry for heaven and earth? Is it worth it? Should I?

Time reminds people that the wind will lift flowers, and the flowers of that season will bloom. . .

A little, perhaps, moistens the two sides, with fragrance, you have no regrets. . .

Gradually understand that hidden mirror flowers are virtual images, birds and fish are just fiction. Five hundred years? Reincarnation?

Five hundred years? Joke, a few years, several times wasted, what is left, and finally more vicissitudes, full of sadness.

Three generations of love? Joke, I am totally embarassed, I don't believe in the afterlife, let alone the afterlife.

Gradually understand that the Arabian Nights are just legends, and the bustling buildings are just dreams. You should understand, right? It's time to realize.

Well, the spread of ivy should not be melancholy, it is climbing, it is spreading the inner voice.

Let's go, with a heart, let's go, towards the moon.

He's gone, step by step towards the Arabian Nights. Until the end of time, the sea dried up and the rocks crumbled, disappearing round after round, leaving footprints inch by inch, immortal in the eight barren Kyushu.

He left and walked to the moon step by step. Raise the radian of the corners of the mouth and disappear into the rings of the four seasons.

What will save you, heart, an early broken heart, and that person, those broken mottles, can you still piece them together? Or lust?

No, no. This is rotation. Why should we turn off rotation?

The vicissitudes of life are only years, the old ones are only innocence, and the lost ones are only innocence.

It is too heavy, whether it is lost or forgotten. You shouldn't have loved it, so why mourn it?

Gradually understand that the earth is moving. People are moving, which is becoming clear gradually. Sad? Depression? The scar in your heart?

Joke, joke, I am heaven and earth, why should I be sad for heaven and earth?

There is a little more light in the sky. what's up Well, a paper crane with a heart.

Time flies in the sky, what should I keep and what should I promise.

The cold heart, out of love, shines on China.

Maybe, maybe.

Dust, from which everything is born, is destroyed.

What about me? What is Zhou Yu's dust like in Dunhuang?