That year, we met by accident.
You became my umbrella on rainy nights.
That year, the enchanting peach blossoms in the poem were so brilliant.
You know, a snowflake called you falls on my heart.
I'm afraid. The wind has confused my clumsy eyes.
You said that no one could control your vision until the heart light went out.
I'm afraid my fragile wings will be cut off by the rain.
You said that the cold in the north made tough shoulders.
That year, we first met shyly under the phoenix tree in your yard.
That year, our hug was seen by you.
That year, there was a happy expectation in our tears.
That year, the birch forest peeled off layer by layer.
That year, persistent sunflowers flourished.
That year, I made an appointment for an early meeting.
You are like snowflake, and I am like autumn chrysanthemum.
* * * Go, a feast for the soul.
Days are as light as running water, and care will never go far.
On the day when the microwave is not shocking, you send me a cool one.
The agreement of the heart, the fingertips are connected.
Not for long, not forever.
In the next reincarnation, I hope you are still the peak of my confusion.
Na Yue
It's not too late to meet in that year, flourishing, tree after tree.
I looked up at your back, looking for the direction of the wind.
It's not that the flowers in April are too fragrant to confuse the secular eyes.
It is the spring rain that is so persistent that it refuses to disperse.
Na Yue, watching the lonely Chang 'e under the laurel tree.
Na Yue, you see, Tengu has swallowed up the perfection of the world.
Na Yue, you buried your hesitation and hesitation in the sand.
Na Yue, you put a book of poems in your backpack, and then go on your way.
Na Yue, you say it backwards. You will only touch the blue sky of your dreams when you get up.
How can you be afraid that the scenery along the way is wasteland or dangerous beach when you step on the road?
Your heart is in poetry, how can ups and downs end in a dull way?
My feet are in the grass, the sunshine is so good, and the thorns become soft.
My heart is in prose, and time passes gracefully.
Give you a hug, so that your back is no longer lonely.
The beach is buried with different shades, and the pearl tears of mussels wear strings.
The disappearing mirage is not a flash in the pan.
Put down the wreath on your head, you are still so dazzling.
Standing in the back is the most beautiful scenery.
Nari
The Qingming is gone, and the cuckoo in Grain Rain is still calling.
You want to stop and slow down the fatigue caused by desire.
On the days when spring accumulates, the wind is stronger and the rain is more lingering.
Refresh the page of the day again and again, and return to the original starting point again and again.
I want to put my dream into spring and give my heart a reason to let the grass grow and the yinger fly.
I want to put my steps into the poem, give a flower and pick it tomorrow.
I want to put my sincerity into the emotional sky and tie it firmly on the mast of purity.
Want to put it, want to put it.
The days in Na Yue that year add up.
Boil a pot of boiling wine instead of a bowl of tea.
Fingers are as wide as fingers, regardless of thickness.
Regardless of the length of time, complexity lost to simplicity.
Divide the year into segments, and the year, month and day are not the smallest units.
Which quantifier should we use to measure the weight of life?
A kilo, a few kilos, or a dollar?
The thin calendar is full of busyness.
On the big stage, you should not only be the protagonist, but also make a guest appearance sometimes.
Life can't be rehearsed, and life is not a repeat of melodrama.
This ticket starts with laughter.
In the end, tears came again and again.
Laughter is a mask, and there are many unwilling and reluctant people in my heart.
Tears are a kind of hidden and painful happiness, living in the heart of half an acre of land.
I want to measure the length and length of a day in seconds.
Then, live poetically in every moment when flowers bloom and fall.