1: Xu Si in the breeze
The breeze blows gently and I can't sleep. I send two promises once in a while, so I can rest and sleep at the full moon.
The night is cold, the clouds are covered, and there is no moon in winter. The accidental railing aroused the touch of temperature, and my thoughts seemed to be petrified in an instant, but I didn't feel the time to get my hands on it quietly. That year, the fragrance of flowers dyed clothes, the wind was shallow, the years swayed gently in front of my eyes, and I was young and frivolous. The Iraqi people occasionally smile and sway slightly, making the flowers bloom. That year, the red forest was covered with frost leaves and the twilight was deep. Time flies, autumn knowledge is flying in front of us, and the bubble is flourishing. I met the warmth of a beautiful woman, shallow and floating, and I was drunk. That year, flowers and leaves burned into ice, and they came to you in a hurry. The unexpected sound of silk and bamboo buried a piece of paper, leaving a half-curtain wind chime.
Maybe memory is not a heavy feeling. Forged memory, lost that accidental opportunity, only added the feeling of mulberry. I once fantasized about Yi 'an's poetic grace. In the morning, I happened to meet the path of red medicine incense, picked a clear photo and put it in your hair room. I pulled my hair, my eyebrows were still shy, and I sang lightly. I once imagined that the curtains covered the porch bamboo, and when I watched the sunrise, I occasionally saw the blue sky in the north window, and painted a beautiful picture of Iraqis with Ye Ping's bamboo eyebrows, leaving a piece of paper to think about. I once imagined, Yo Yo Luming Literature, Shi Ye Ping. ...
But these are fabricated memories, forced imagination, even if beautiful, but also illusory, not as good as the real sense of shame.
Maybe the world of mortals is too lingering. In an ordinary place, it will be turbid, and in the middle of half-baked, the mood will always become bumpy. In this life, the flowers are red and green, so Fang Ying has tears; In this life, flowers and leaves have withered, so let's go back together. If the four seasons of the course are particularly indifferent, then a smile can be said to be a city.
Know each other in this life, but not in the afterlife. This is destiny. I've known you in my life, but I haven't known you in my last life. This is love. If Ye is a gentleman, it is already Qing Dynasty.
Article 2: I am just a passer-by.
In the journey of life, meeting and parting are inevitable. In the stop-and-go scenery, how many people stay for whom? No one is unique. No matter how we meet, some people are just passing clouds, just a wisp of wind passing by. And some people, just one look, leave a heart, and then stay in their hearts for a long time.
Blue sky, yellow leaves,
The autumn wind is full of waves, and the waves are cold and smoky.
The mountain reflects the setting sun and the sky meets the water, and the grass is ruthless, even outside the setting sun.
Dark homesickness, chasing the thoughts of travel,
Every night unless, sweet dreams make people unable to sleep.
The bright moon tower is lonely, and the wine turns into sorrow and tears.
Once when I was drunk, I covered the curtain you wanted and fell into your eyes. Confused, I put your every word and every mark into the chassis of my heart for sealing. In the world of mortals, wine turns into a monarch and tears into words. Outside the world of mortals, you are in the dream, and you are outside the dream.
The street I walked in my memory lost its former prosperity, and everything under heavy rain was no longer fresh. The helplessness of reality flows in the river of life, like a dead tree, lying quietly. Bits of memories, soaked in the sea of people, can not find your smile, a word. Numb legs can't cross the ditch between you and me, let memories anesthetize me, let life control me, and let life swing, but I am sad to find that there is not even a trace of resistance.
The story of you and me has been sleeping in the season of flowers flying. Maybe in your eyes or others', these stories are just an episode. No one will read it, no one will comment, and you won't open it. But in my heart, they are as beautiful as fireworks, as vast as starry sky, and always impact my heart again and again.
When I am alone, I feel inexplicably depressed. I don't want to talk to anyone and I don't want to go out. I just want to sit quietly, lock myself in the dark, brush the screen over and over again, light up my circle of friends, knock on tired or crying music, and think about it painfully like catkins. Sometimes when I hear a song, I drift across a past and fly over a shadow. And I clearly thought of something, but I couldn't find a clue.
When I am alone, I often stand by the roadside and watch, watching countless people pass by me with a straight face, fast or slow, or counting the passing cars, letting the speeding wind blow my hair and skirts, or holding an umbrella in the rain, reaching out to catch the raindrops in front of me, or standing on the bus platform independently and watching people get on and off. No one stops to look at me, and no one will think about who I am and where I am going.
Too many people meet, but go their separate ways, too many people pass by, who remembers who is who? Who is whose who?
These figures, like a gust of wind, have become my passers-by, and so have I. In their eyes, aren't they just passers-by?
Countless times curled up in the dark and silently thought, why did we meet? Why do you want to know each other? Why did you finally split up? Why should I be exiled in a dark world now, trying to find a light source? In the long rainy season, I struggled to find the illusory tomorrow.
If you seek a beautiful dream, it is hard to come true. Who knows my mood at this time? Tears poured down before the pillow, and the light dripped through the window.
I think, among all the passers-by, we are the lucky ones in the world of mortals. I think the spring breeze blows my heart and warms you. I think the tenderness in those eyes also flows in your eyes. Passerby, to you and me, is just a strange noun.
All my attachment to you until one day I woke up. Facts have proved that the spring breeze is moving in another direction. It turns out that the affectionate eye god is just a red question mark, and the dancing rain is just a cloud. None of them dared to get to the bottom of it. Finally, it turned into a sad and helpless sigh, feeling alone, crying alone and wandering alone. One night, the branches are broken and the flowers are defeated, and the remnant falls on a rainy night. The tower of confidence collapsed instantly, and the river kept flowing. The broken gear of dreams turned away the fairy tale of love and my fantasy, and you set foot on your track before holding your hand and hugging you.
I will always be a line outside your play, a touch of green in the flower, and you, just a wisp of incense, have locked my whole youth.
Who can complain about loneliness? The preface is always light. If I knew it was difficult to fight, I would regret not keeping it.
Walking on this road of forgetting you, I am helpless, confused and heartbroken. I am afraid to accept all this, but I can't stop it. I had to accept it silently. Perhaps this is the growth of life, or a kind of decadence. The geese came and the flowers were gone, and a person sighed for the flowers in the fleeting time. Things are different. Between dreams and waking, I am looking for a trace of warmth, an ecstasy and a gorgeous sky in your hands, so that you can float quietly in the world of self-consideration.
Countless times, standing at the vague intersection in the dream and the ancient street view opened the curtain of memory. Who is looking for your smiling face in the sea of people? Looking into the distance, who left a long figure on the criss-crossing ridge road? Whose way of missing was opened by heavy rain and wet leaves? On the way to marriage, who lingers in the four seasons? In the Peach Blossom Garden, I buried my pink sad dream all the way.
If you remove the dust from the road, if you make the cement muddy, when will the floating dust meet harmoniously? What should you do if you can't open your arms?
The autumn wind is clear, the autumn moon is bright, and the fallen leaves gather and disperse, which surprised Western jackdaw in the west.
Acacia knows when to meet, and this night is embarrassing.
When you enter my lovesick door, you will know that I am lovesick.
Sauvignon Blanc is like a memory of Sauvignon Blanc, and short acacia is infinite.
If I had known that acacia was tied in my heart like this, it would not be like you didn't know.
Years still draw deep red rings on the trunk, and time still walks on the bright road. Separated you, once alive you and me, were destroyed on my way here, dreaming.
It turns out that I am just a stranger and a passer-by to you.
Chapter 3: Love is not always beautiful, and loneliness is not predestined.
Tomorrow is Tanabata. Faced with this beautiful festival, I thought of 10 thousand reasons to escape. But this is just self-deception, like a child.
Did you meet to leave? If not, why do people who meet leave each other? Do you love each other to leave? If not, why are people who love each other lonely?
If one person is the beginning, two people are not the end; If love is a story, will two hearts last?
Although the neon is small, it illuminates the whole night sky; Snuff is cool, but it warms people's hearts. Unfortunately, I can't be your last one; Fortunately, you became my last one.
From strangeness to familiarity, the whole process seems to span half the galaxy. These are two people who passed by, because they know each other when they look back; These are two people who love each other, because in a word, they are separation and separation. Fate is like this, doomed, doomed, can not be modified, can not be forced. Therefore, I can only say "I love you" and never say "together".
Let go of your hands, fall off the cliff, fall to the bottom and enjoy your freedom. Since you can't get it, let it be.
Who will miss you if I don't see you for three days? When you compare your answer with reality, you will shed some tears. Everyone loves himself the most. Even if you try to hide it.
Although the neon is small, it feels very happy. It was when we were together. Snuff is cold, but my heart is colder. This is after separation.
Although our love has not broken up, it will come to an end. I believe lavender can expect miracles, but I don't believe in myself.
Cowherd and Weaver Girl, Magpie Bridge and Galaxy, separated after meeting, and missed each other after separation. Tanabata means short-term beauty, and separation is long-term pain.
Love is not the ultimate beauty, loneliness is not the fate of life, which may be the meaning of Tanabata.
Tanabata, with you