2020年7月15日 | by 科姆龙
Memory crosses the tip of the hair and touches the pain deep in the root of the hair. A person, a few lines of words and a photo, hides in the depths of his heart scattered and hides the withered worries one by one, still.
Early in the morning, a flower falls after blooming, and the drizzle ticks under the umbrella. The sparse sound fell on the rice paper, and the bell was carved in the midnight. The fleeting time in the sound of Dada is like water, which has gone away the dreams of the previous life and devoured the love of this life. In the Pale Story, the cold wind bleached and the ending was speechless.
Boil a pot of clear tea and drink slowly. In the story of one page, I picked out a few paragraphs of sweet fragrance and appreciated them carefully. Look at the dazzling flowers and listen to the sound of rain. In the lingering deep night, there are countless fragrant cold nights, and the murmuring whispers wither the prosperity and delicacy of a season.
Who are the flowers blooming for in several years? Who are the flowers falling in the wind and rain?
The long beautiful image on the stone bridge flickered in the clouds in a daze. A few feet of love, a few inches of resentment, dare not stare back, do not want to uncover the deep scar, do not have the courage to face the back.
What cannot be given up is the true feelings, and what cannot be erased is the inscription. When the tender feeling of parting was blown into a mass of paper by wind and rain, and vowed to drown in the muddy abyss, the night was cold and cold, the sky was hanging in the moon, and the stars were dim.
In front of the window, time flowed lightly, leaving a poem rain. The green window flowers were flattened, and the embrace of fingertips was slightly sung. The Palm is full of heart flowers. One night, under the moonlight of osmanthus.
Among the mountains, the rain is fine and clouds are circling, which are silk clouds. Accompanied by the light rain, the wind was blowing. When gentle sliding over the bamboo festival, Changxuan danced with a long flute of lovesickness.
I really hope that there will be an afterlife to bring love again. I still met you on the stone bridge. It was still a blue and white flower, a boat pole with a secluded appointment, which stopped in my heart. Looking at the gurgling water, listening to the quiet autumn rain, a rod of Peach Blossom Garden opened, a paddle of pear blossom fragrance.
Winter night snow, memory still. Winter Night is the dream of Snow White, Snow White is the love of winter night. Connecting the winter night and snow with memory is still the most …..