this night, tea and wine didn't sleep, only my heart was on the other side. The moon has faded away, the wind has faded away, and only dreams are lingering. The night is empty, the lights are dim, and the mind is tactfully like Yan Yan. Love is deep and shallow, poetry is quiet, and the sea is still and quiet.
tossing and turning in the moment of memory, missing, if the red wine is drunk and sleepless, gently spreading the fragrance of lavender on the wrist pillow between the hair and ears, lingering in front of your eyes, making the night more gorgeous, and the hazy memory permeates the window of the cabin, waiting for the moonlight to run aground on both sides of the Milky Way, watching the stars shine, waiting for the flowers to be full of moons, listening to talented people and beautiful women, and being full of love for poetry and songs, going through thousands of years.
213 may be a time when memories are slowly fading away. Those once beautiful onions, if peeled off, fade away from memory one by one, but tears are inadvertently falling off.
whose dream was inadvertently dyed red by the falling maple leaf at the window in late autumn? Falling loneliness, let the breeze blow away that silent sadness, who would believe that behind the scenery, there is such a lonely feeling. Who can understand your love? Perhaps it has nothing to do with the blue sky, white clouds, green mountains and green waters, but just looking for the love and attachment that once gave you infinite beauty. Even if it falls, even if the years change and the water is ruthless, you are still willing to stay at the foot of the tree and turn into mud and be silent!
a snowflake, a harvest, a wisp of emotion, a nostalgia. That year, the wind and sunshine in Na Yue were warm and fresh in my memory, but from spring to autumn, it changed not only the seasons, but also you and me outside the seasons. The scenery behind the car was once beautiful, but time can also make the scenery grow old with the years. When I look back, things have already changed.
Snow, a kiss falling on a rose, solidified whose expectation? The moment the wind blows through my heart, whose thoughts are shaking? Perhaps in a corner of the world, there is always a small garden that belongs to you, swaying on the swing, accompanied by fragrant wind, fragrant roses and flowers, lingering with the stars and the moon. If you walk into poetry like a dream, you don't need to say anything, and your hot eyes read my poem volume, which makes people warm over and over again, while your heart is already depressed and silently looking forward to it just for that rose appointment.
The agreement that I once made was lightly permeated in my heart, just for that farewell. The memories of the four seasons drifting from spring to winter, full of poems, all condensed into a blessing. The sunshine is warm, shining on the bottom of my heart, your footsteps are shallow in my poems, the fallen leaves are the scenery for your farewell, and the sadness is lingering. A cup of coffee condenses all my thoughts and tastes in a light drink, which is not only beautiful memories, but also expectations and dreams for the future ...
Snow silently whitens my loneliness, and drinks a glass of red wine. On that page, roses are fragrant, but your smiling face is blooming in youth, lingering for dreams? Acacia in the red maple will precipitate memories in your dreams. I don't think about the old age after Fangfei all the way forward, but I just want to be with you like a shadow. Looking back, I followed your attachment with my eyes, and collected poetic clouds and smoke for you. The warm romance melted my heart and the poetic language was brilliant.
Under the dim light of night, the snowflake rotates silently, and the inexplicable sadness climbs up the heart. Listening to the familiar music, the tears fall down. I think of some scenes, some things and some people. Time is too hasty, and all that can be left is memories and thoughts. Life does not have a perfect ending, but it has perfect memories and fleeting time.
I can't see the confusion at my fingertips, the cold wind, and the sadness at my heart clearly. Only the faltering memory, walking alone in the euphemistic and lonely feelings, learned to look forward to and cherish only for the poems I once wrote. Those happy days, those hand-in-hand times, those strong and lonely ones written with drunkenness, and those stubborn ones swallowed up by the night, dripped on the paper bit by bit, turned into poems, covered the porch window, and let the thoughts climb up to the desolate heart and feel sad.
Mo Luofang's notes are full of idiocy, pointing to the rainy morning poems on the keyboard, and Fangfei's words are exhausted before her dreams, and when she dreams back in her lonely arms.
In the middle of the night, in front of the window, orchids are faint and dreamy, asking flowers for silence, for whom? Who is it for? Autumn is divided into three parts, half with running water and half with dust. Listen to the wind and don't come, for the moon? For Yunbai? Waiting for snowflakes to fly, half leaning on the balcony, half hiding feelings.
The world of mortals, across the other side of the years, I am here and you are there. Life, with the bookmark of dreams, bears witness to the hardships, joys and sorrows from page to page. Perhaps, one day we are all old. Looking back at those footprints, we leave behind not only memories, but also poems full of love and dreams. We have been stranded by time, but love and missing are immortal memories and sentimentally attached to each other. We once owned each other and brushed each other, but that love once wrote a perfect ending for you and me.
Window, faint snowflakes, feebly exude the peace of winter, quietly look out the window, listen to the entanglement of snow and dead branches, and snowflakes fall silently, hovering gently under the eaves, like the worries in the curtain, folded lonely in front of the table, waiting for the bookmarks of years to turn over the wind and frost, and write down those beautiful pictures. We are all the most authentic and simple languages between the lines, and write immortal poems of life with the pen of love.
broken
since you gave me a beautiful dream, why did you wake me up? I want to dream again and sink forever ... It's just my wishful thinking to exchange my fireworks for your sinking all my life. My once-traceless heart has been scarred at this moment. The once tough heart is fragile at this moment; I was willing to hold up a sky for you, and this moment is already illusory. Who made my love dusty? Who broke my faith in love? At this moment, I ... dreamily ... if I walk ... corpse ...
triangle, the ending
The pain at the moment when I turned to leave was not a happy far away, but an irreversible ending when I reached out; The sorrow at the moment when I let go of my hand is not the decline of love, but the obsession in my heart that I wish you well. In the love of three people, one of them always quits. May you be safe in this life.
Empty night
The residual lotus is defeated by the pool, and the autumn wind is rustling, which touches the softness in someone's heart, humming a song of acacia, pavilions and pavilions, and who is missing. The sound of the piano curled up, and in the bright moonlight, whose dance was missing. It's a long way, and it's raining, and I'm surprised who I lost my company.
Acacia is bitter
Acacia is bitter, and the once beautiful thoughts are constantly played in my mind; In the dead of night, I shed the bitter tears and soaked the pillow towel in my ear; The swan goose keeps her voice, touching the weakness in her heart and sighing sadly; At the ends of the earth, there is only the belief in your heart ...
Don't look back
Don't look back,
Please stick to the way you came,
The moonlight is blurred,
Whose footsteps are disturbed by the wind,
There is no way to save you from rushing on the road,
You said you were unwilling,
You should break your promise,
Let me go.
Don't look back,
You go your way.
I am sad all my life
Looking at the setting sun in the sky at dusk, I seem to see your face, reaching out and touching it, but there is only vanity. The cold wind lingers in my heart through the icy cold of my fingers, and two lines of tears gently slide down my cheeks. The promise I made is gone, but the token in my hand is delayed.