Snuggle in the Jokhang Temple Square to bask in the sun, blowing the Gesang flowers fragrance on your head. At three o'clock in the afternoon, you said you like Maggie Ami's face, breathing in the afternoon sun of Lhasa. In this place where you can't find a shadow, your toes hit the rhythm of unknown origin, muttering to yourself, and then looking at you with a bright look; your eyes are long and long.
I heard you sing yourself, without melody or song title, like King Gesar, who was given by God, I know you are close to you but are flying, without desire or demand, and then the sadness and sorrow come and go, like the cracks of past and present life, stacking dry-cleaned love and a little sadness.
sewed into a once dusty bag and hid here for half a century of winter. Sometimes, a smile arises; sometimes, a gentle chant. You said you weren't sure if this was happiness! In a certain year and month when we met by chance, the sunshine in Tibet spreads on you and me. I felt sad and beautiful before leaving.
It turns out that it is all you, which makes my memories last. When will it be the same as tonight? Stay in the gaze and let your eyes speak each other's positions. When one day, raindrops tap your window and the wind blows your idea, can you take the time to think of this old look?
