Heart rain and wish
You and I, separated by a dream, are ethereal and empty, and we are willing to go there all our lives. Sometimes, I always want to leave some obsession at dusk and turn around to pick up the pain of my trip.
Everything has nothing to do with everything, everything is closely connected with everything. You can't turn a blind eye to the secular in your eyes. I want to find a thought to keep warm, but it also disturbs the sky in my heart. There is a beginning without an end, and there is a beginning with an end. This has always been a concept. On the way forward, I stepped back step by step, and a lotus flower bloomed in my heart. I grew up in a dream and fell out in it. Past lives is nothing more than a reincarnation. Three drops and two tears, how to interpret misty rain. Blue light shines on the Buddha's clothes, and the lotus platform recites the Golden Sutra, without noisy ears. Silently closed, willingly deviated from the track, and the re-blooming plum blossoms lost their language.
The fleeting tidbits are interpreted as stories of time, which are still clear when they are old. If the fate of dust is a dream, if there is a dream, if there is a dream, if there is a trance, it cannot be caused by love.
It seems that there has always been a premonition that once the moment of peace comes, something disturbing will detonate in the distance, so an unrelenting string begins to tighten. And heaven remains our neighbourhood, the rest of my life is long. How should I face my world of mortals? Many times, I want to break a wisp of breeze, take away a little cloud and light wind, just for that restless heart, to be just right and safe in a dull time. After that, don't live here, start over here. ...
Perhaps, the distance between dream and reality is this life and the afterlife, but I still look ahead, even in the dim light, I found your shadow. Devout all the way, rendering you with misty words. In fact, no one can understand my feelings. How is the word "you" metaphorically used? Too often, I just hold hands and "can't say clearly". This is not the woman who plays the pipa with her sleeves on the armrest. How can she understand the beauty of ink painting and painting? Those flowing rules wander in the world, and my love is deep and lonely in the cold corner. Let me leave in a hurry, and, "Your heart is a closed door, and my horseshoe is a beautiful mistake."
Lu Sihao said that everyone comes into your life for a reason. The hardest thing for people is to learn how to face parting calmly, and the paradox of this world is that when you learn to face parting calmly, that person will never leave in your heart. Isn't it? For the sky, Pamir is just a hazy pattern on the butterfly, which is fleeting; To me, you are my whole world, my whole life. The long journey of time is hazy, just like dreaming in a dream. I am a singer and lack background music. I don't know what I should sing. I can only look for warm eyes on the last bench with an anxious mind ... You are a blue flower in the dark, with a fragile feeling, brewing into a poem in my heart.
There is always a set of puzzles that people still can't understand, can't find the reason, and link into endless questions. Don't leave me so many scars; Don't rewrite many rejections into indecision; Don't, at the time of parting, be an affectionate eye god. ...
Such as flowing time, even if I try to get used to the constantly shocking world of mortals, I still can't help but turn my heart ... I can write your name on thin paper, and on a breezy night, through the moon full of flowers, I can imagine you in the distance.
Beautiful dreams are still the deepest pain in my heart. Old times swayed into pale paper in the shadows outside the window, and some beautiful sorrows bent forward with time. The world of mortals, right and wrong, let countless reverie fall in the gap of time; The years are long, and we just rush by. Choose a city, spend a quiet time, don't seek perfection, just want to take a lifetime of happiness and never tire of looking at each other.
Time flies, time flies. The fate of the sky is always written with the hazy gathering and scattering of two Yi Yi. Every encounter in a long life can be regarded as an agreement and turned into practice. Come when you want, go when you want, gain and lose, and gain the meditation of life between coming and going. In this way, you can only follow the thread of time, carefully read the tranquility of the world and taste the quiet time.
Some people I care about, some things I care about, all live in my life in the form of dust settled. Or company, or pity. If, in the end, it is not perfect as we expected, then I have to choose to wish each other peace with the softness of my arm. Even if the wind and smoke are bleak and bleak, I will still stick to the heart of half an acre of rain.