Before, I was in love with the silence of the night, and I liked to use a cold pen to dip into the red juice to exaggerate the mixed feelings. When I am drunk and lying in the blue sky, I am used to listening to the songs of lost souls, and then quietly open the messy heart sounds, embrace the confused flying catkins, and take care of the broken but delicate remnants of memories under the fallen flowers alone!
is used to using the deep night to settle messy emotions, and then calmly takes a hand from the clear spring, reflecting the face full of tear stains, silently licking the cracks in the heart. But always inadvertently, these flowing words in the red brocade of ice paper will condense into tears that cannot be wiped away...
Now, when I return, although I will no longer be sad easily, I still can't change it. The habit of expressing your feelings in words. In the consonance, I stay together with the murmuring drunken words, let the pen and ink of fantasy, peel off the confinement of emotion, and pass by intoxicated with my intoxicated soul in the spotless heart spring, perhaps, just to find, to find many mysteries. The answer to the question is to look for the red lips holding a rose... Why is this feeling possible? Why wait for this? I can only write the hot words of my heart into my distant eyes, and entrust my persistent longing to the drunken stars. In the gentleness of dreams, I quietly hide the seeds of hope deep into my heart...
Night , like a gurgling stream that never stops in the passing of stars, but my confused mind does not want to take refuge in the piety of the Buddha in Qingyi, condense a pool of affectionate pen and ink, take refuge in the spirit of the Buddha's words, and take refuge in the smiling God holding flowers in the clouds. In the light talk of Buddha, my own fantasies float from time to time: You will step in the footsteps of dawn and send me the ice-breaking news of spring.
In the season of drenching summer rain, you will hold the compassion in your palm for me, and use the warmth of motherhood to kiss the words covered by tears... Sincerity is where the gold and stone are opened. Can this love be relied upon, or can this love be tolerated? The gorgeous peach blossoms fall all over the ground. You come quietly in the spring breeze, smiling softly and whispering softly, just like butterflies dancing in the flowers, just like the oriole singing softly in the dense forest. It's like I'm in a dream. Among millions of people, I happened to meet you, neither a step too early nor a step too late. However, I have nothing to say except to say: So you are here too. "
It's another season like this, and it's another night like this. In the early morning, with the sound of raindrops, I open my note and write about the rain and lovesickness?
The night of the season is dim. It rains all night, and I feel confused. Stand quietly in front of the window. Sort out the thoughts about you for a season.
Tie the thoughts about gains and losses into a beautiful bow, and then spread it out in front of the window where the moonlight and night rain meet.
My mood was stirred by the moonlight, and I blended my anxiety into the night rain and let it tick. The moon wiped away the sadness of the night, and the rain washed away the arrogance and arrogance. I took the dream away to the Tianchi and wanted to filter the sadness away. . Salvage the joy and heart of the season, always pursuing to touch the vague scenery.
That scenery is wandering endlessly in the alternation of black and white, hoping to become a bright star in the dark night. —Always bright and no longer flashing!
The night is as deep as ever, but when I look up, I see a shooting star passing by in the sky.
The rain is still ticking all night long. , a night of reverie, weaved into a night of dreams, it is difficult to see you in the dream!
The rain all night wet my words this morning, and my mood is always moist. Spring and Autumn pen, the wind and clouds add time to the book. Make wine to drink. I want to be drunk by the tenderness of those fantasies, but I can't help the rain of this season, like the heartfelt words flowing from the ancient piano, slowly passing through my heart.
Is this persistence meant to be understood by those listening to the rain? A touch of lovesickness comes to mind. The fading dusk is blown away by the wind, and the scenery is woven into the dream of this summer rain. Tired, I want to keep that fragrance in my heart. I am willing to wait in the wind of the four seasons and stand in the heart just for the scenery in my heart!
