It was quiet tonight without a trace of ripple. I'm waiting for you here, waiting for a lotus to turn the moonlight white, flowing on the lake, regaining my lost sleep drop by drop.
The mottled thoughts at midnight, sitting with me under the street lights. The reunion after a long separation kept stretching out his hands from his memory to capture the guilty warmth. The rusty time was knocked down by the bells in the temple.
Love is the easiest to grow in the night. The vocabulary of both sides creates soft river sand and water plants, and the running water hit by stones shines brightly, like a parallel sentence that aggregates behind your back.
The breeze is blowing, and the wine glass is destined to sing the protagonist tonight. A drop of sad wine cannot find a place to stay. Ten thousand tons of explosives are buried in it, waiting for your gentle steps to ignite.
Taking advantage of the moonlight, I will walk the road I have walked again, chop firewood and cook in your greetings, and stay for ten days and half a month. Sitting in the familiar bird songs, waiting for the south waves you planted.
Tonight, I'll wait for you here, waiting for a long-term insomnia path to start lying flat, no longer twisting yesterday into a full-string bow. Through the window, I smell your breath from the surging moonlight.
