The red note is graceful, missing and dying

The tassels of the world of mortals, the years shake, people come and go, day after day, along the graceful words, all the way, walk into the Memory Garden of birds and flowers, the melodious fragrance of ink around the heart, through the Millennium wind and dust, and finger, dancing. I looked through the window and thought, with a touch of tenderness, exiled on the beach of words, run away in the boundless dream sea, better than countless spring flowers and autumn moon; Better than countless pledges of love, my mother-in-law was in such a romantic mood, layered. In life, there are many helpless passing by; There are many casual tenderness; There are many pleasant and beautiful encounters; There are many touching and sad encounters, acquaintances, acquaintances and separation. The happiness that once belonged to the Ferris wheel; The promise of everlasting, revealing sweetness, revealing light and shallow sweetness, has been spreading freely and gently in the bridge of heart, singing softly. In the confusion of fleeting years, I gently use my pleasant pupil and sincere expectation. However, there is only the distance of a flower, only the time of turning around, just because of the process of waving my hand, we are already passing by hurriedly, gradually, far and near; Gradually, shallow; Gradually, light; Gradually, far, far away —— deep or shallow feelings, have not had time to cover the footprints when they came, have not lingered, have vanished into smoke. Once, what do you expect? Once, what do you yearn? It doesn’t matter anymore, but we can’t care about it. Really, we have to make ourselves recall sadness with one hand, wander melancholy with the other hand, bit by bit, Drops of water pierced through stones, flowing into a vast ocean, Heart waves like tides rising and falling, sometimes calm as a mirror, sometimes magnificent. The tired heart wept bitterly, left and got rid of it, but could not let go from beginning to end. The Stubborn Love put himself down in the midnight infected by plague, accompanying the lonely night together with Lan Shan. You go further and further, taking away my warm spring flowers, my warm smile like sunshine, the dribs and drabs in the world of mortals, walking in the gradually distant memories, no one can say for sure, who is right or who is wrong? My heart was hurt and painful. I just wanted to let myself cry bitterly with a heavy rain. Maybe this is the scenery I passed by, or maybe this is my own story? Who can be free from a hint of sorrow? I really want to drive you out of the sky of my dream, but the shackles of missing have imprisoned me for too long, how many times, my heart painfully stroked the windowsill of my dream, the swaying wind chimes still can’t change your looking back. With the silence in the deep of the season, let the tenderness of ten fingers spread quietly and stop in the red notes and ink fragrance, thoughts like flowers bloom in the darkness before dawn, and indulged in unbridled intoxication in midnight. Who would like to put the missing in the lines of poetry that nobody cares about, and take out the romantic legend? And I just want to listen to the sea and write poems alone in the days when flowers are red and willows are green, let my imagination fly and let my thoughts run and jump. How to let you meet me, in my most beautiful moment, for this, I have been begging for five hundred years in front of the Buddha, asking the Buddha to let us have a relationship, so the Buddha turned me into a tree, grow on the road you must pass. Xi Murong’s poems weave my dream for a long time, an inch of lovesickness and a miss. I gently fold the missing from the end of the world into countless paper cranes, waiting sincerely, innocent as a girl with an oiled paper umbrella in the alley in the south of the Yangtze River, sad as lilac. In the dream, it coincides with the blooming of flowers, the slight misty rain, and a curtain of thoughts with all kinds of amorous feelings. In the distance of dream, the dark fragrance floats, and the blooming on the other side is also a kind of beautiful beauty. Outside the Dream, listen to the graceful and graceful rain, see the colorful flowers, surging feelings, like dew wet, like water Crystal, like Lotus Heart, thoroughly remoulded. Some feelings are often wet by tears; Some flowers fall, they are often loved by dreams; Some memories are quietly sentimentally attached. Everything, let nature take its course, do whatever you want, as light as water! As time goes by, everything has been closed. Raise your head, the sky, the cloud is rolling, the cloud is comfortable, drifting, no trace. One thought was full of flowers, one dream was broken for thousands of years, missing was singing and dancing with the wind, the deep feelings were singing and dancing with the rain, the secret fragrance filled the sleeves, donations were read and written into poems, and sentimentally attached love came one after another.? I can only let my thoughts fly in the wind gently, listening to the elegant cozy, colorful appearance, like butterfly love flowers, ups and downs. Missing is like a poem, which shines the prosperity of life; Missing is like a song, which enriches the wings of years; Missing is like a flower, which is elaborately made into Garland and worn on the head of the future, making the fragrance lingering forever. In this spring season, I burst through the ground again and put my most beautiful poem on a soft and sincere blessing for you. Spring goes back again and again, the plain refers to the flick, a song of missing rhyme trickle down, whose dream is charming? A piece of red ink, whose eyes are intoxicated? Thousands of mountains and rivers, how many wisps of missing? Smoke and rain wasted, who can see through the world of mortals? In the vast sea of people, who ever touched the faint pain in his chest and walked through the lonely rain Lane proudly? As time passes by, who is pulling a feeling, drinking the bitter wine of missing and heartbreaking? 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