Buddha said: Looking back 500 times in the past life can only be exchanged for passing by once in this life.
So, how many times do I have to look back before I can really live in your heart? (-Xi Murong)
In previous lives, I looked back frequently.
Farewell handkerchief floating into the clouds.
How much you miss, how much you leave.
The last watermark sent me away.
In this life, I look for lost footprints in previous lives.
Walk through Qian Shan and walk into your eyes.
Looking back 500 times in previous lives is worth passing by once in this life.
I used a thousand times to look back in exchange for stopping in front of you in this life.
Ask Buddha: How many times do you have to look back before you can really live in your heart?
The Buddha is speechless, and I only look back frequently.
Like a moth to a fire.
You can ignore the consequences, you can have no reason.
Looking back and looking back.
Thousands of times, you are in my eyes, in my heart.
I often look back and look forward to your tenderness.
I often recall my wish to be together.
I looked back on the boat in my previous life.
Lotus leaves connect the sadness in my eyes one by one.
The Buddha in this life has fulfilled my yearning.
Let me into your eyes
I've been looking for it for a long time. I'm tired.
Just want to rest in your arms
I just want your hand to wipe the tears from my face.
I just want your body temperature to warm my cold hands.
Don't ask me why I've been looking for you.
I didn't drink Meng Po Tang, and I was worried about you.
Don't ask me why I am crying.
I didn't drink Meng Po Tang, but I still remember the despair when I left in my last life.
Said I cried for joy.
Tears fall on your lapel.
All the sorrows in previous lives have blossomed into dense lilac trees.
I just want to join hands with you under the tree, look at those five blooming flowers and predict happiness for us.
I still often look back in my life.
I still don't drink Meng Po Tang in my life.
In the afterlife, I will look for you all the way.
In the afterlife, I will hold hands with you to find the five petals.
Flowering tree
Xi Murong
How to let you meet me
In my most beautiful moment
for this reason
I prayed in front of the Buddha for 500 years.
Pray for Buddha to let us have a dusty relationship.
Buddha made me a tree.
Follow the path you may take.
Under?the?sun
Carefully full of flowers.
Every flower carries my previous hopes.
When you get close,
Listen carefully
Trembling leaves
This is the passion I am waiting for.
When you walked under the tree, you didn't notice me.
On the ground behind you
My friend,
Not falling petals
That's my dying homesickness
be homesick
Nanjing Fuzimiao
Tonight,
Mom's hand is off.
Nine stars, the moon
Mom has it, too.
Wander around
When I was a child tonight, I rode on the back of a cow.
Listen to mom:
The moon is a silver shepherd's flute,
Mooncakes are the moon painted in the sky.
Reflected in the eyes.
Tonight's boy, I stand by and watch the old well,
Listen to mom:
The moon is a golden pulley,
The moon cake is the moon that falls at the bottom of the well.
Put your mouth in your heart.
I am young and ambitious.
Left my hometown,
Mom said:
Holding the shepherd's flute,
When you are homesick,
Let a moonlight shine in my hometown.
Tonight, the moonlight is like China.
I am like a flower,
Take the star in mom's hand.
And the moon,
Mom said:
Son, drink it.
Hometown comes to your heart.
Oh,
So this is a bowl.
The smell of water in the old well.
Nostalgia (prose poetry)
Christmas flowers are as red as blood.
Driving in a city thousands of miles away
The air is getting cold.
Mom's phone call in the morning, a few words of exhortation, ancient and warm, warming frozen memories.
The city is bustling and empty, full of vain happiness, but I am barren everywhere, looking for a strange sense of familiarity.
When your hand reached out, there were levels of pain and weakness I endured.
You said it was time to go home. Although it is bustling and noisy, it never belongs to us.
The local accent curled up and tears flowed from my eyes.
No one wants to be a lonely ghost.
Floating in a foreign land
Let us miss our home so much, it becomes more and more barren and decadent, just like the sigh and tears of the old man.
We are also high-spirited and arrogant. But there is always an innate wound in my heart, which hurts when I touch it. Sadly, we grew up in the same land under the same blue sky, but that land has both advantages and disadvantages.
There is a pure sunny heart with a faint blue color. There is a pure happiness that supports the fatigue day after day.
Maybe everything will change when we grow up. If we see more clutches, our hearts will be as hard as iron. However, in the dark, silent, inch by inch, peeling off are missing bodies.
The path in front of the door, the bamboo forest behind the house. The early cock crows and the farmers go home at sunset. The playmate next door, the boy at the same table.
And ignorant and shy love.
Some things, after passing, leave traces and become years and memories. Although there is a little pain, it will be ignored occasionally, but it will never be forgotten.
Some emotions, like the simple feelings of teenagers, will show a faint blue color after experiencing a disaster.
Your sadness lurks in the mottled shadow of the old house, and the grass is already sad all around. The young face reflected in the pond is naive and happy. Now our hearts have flown too far.
I was disconnected. Inch by inch of pain
You said that even if life is evergreen, leaves will take root one day.
On the way home.
We are together.
There are many holy monks under the tree, and each flower is a Buddha. Time has no shadow, water is silent and a leaf is wasted.