A composition about love

Without water, there is no rest. Take a break. Take a break. I remember such a clear sentence: colorful clouds are easy to disperse dreams and easy to wake up, and fate is a ray of light smoke in the world of mortals. A word became a prophecy. Perhaps, life is like a play, you can sing and I will play. Time flies like water on the stage, the sleeves are covered with BLACKPINK, the lyrics overflow from the lips, the sun and the moon shuttle under the stage, the brilliance flows in the eyes, and the sleeves dance empty to cover up the vicissitudes of the years. Inner mixed feelings, so Beijing, so unreal, like what? Like tangled love? Like love and hate on the stage?

Maybe love is also such a scene. Or is it just the sleeves that slowly swing out, the powder is floating, the eyebrows are black, the gongs and drums are loud in front of the stage, and the dust settles behind the stage. If so, the stories in the world are exactly the same, and in the end they are still empty, and there is no escape from the ending of the song. How much ink-and-wash rice paper has prospered at this point. Therefore, there are many people looking for marriage in the world. If you don't believe, you can't help believing. Anyone can become a soft finger on paper.

At night, the jade pillow is cold, which is a little cold in memory, but the wind blows the curtains. When I feel strong, I know that red notes are colorless. Information about you is everywhere. I am destined to be your story, with no beginning. The hair in the mirror is messy, with sad fingers. I have long hair like ink and collected some lonely feelings. The 50 strings of golden instruments in the case were woven into touching legends by the years. That string and column are like playing one note at a time. Who is singing ecstatic eulogy on the other side? Look over your name and drink a pot of misty rain. Deduct the once persistent reserve into colorful autumn.

I can't afford to worry too much. In this world, too many eyes are indifferent. Who cares about who? Who used to know who? I wonder who will remember, and who will forget? Who left, who abandoned? I can only step on the Sanskrit sound of the morning bell and the evening drum and walk in the wisps of sandalwood purple fog.

Looking back, I stopped at the broken line. The old words about you gradually stained the dust on my desk, and I scribbled in front of the dust. I saw my tearful words on the back of the manuscript paper, which is an unchangeable disguise. How to reach your other shore and sleep? A poem? A piece of idle clouds? I thought about it carefully, and finally, I just gave a wry smile. Finally, I just stood alone. You and I are still separated by a deep sea. I can only turn my back and face the imminent injury.

I can't help sighing. I'm just a woman living alone in the sunset. In the depths of the world of mortals, measure the distance of loneliness, watch the sunset, the moon fall and clouds surge, see the flowers fall without trace, and listen to Liu Dai shake. Insist on telling the story of the passage of time in Shui Ying. Perhaps, all the love affairs, this is a unique agreement in this world, once you see it, goodbye will be like the wind. The past on the edge of the years can't stand the deep sorrow in these shallow ink books. I just want to ask who has read it carefully when the world of mortals is rolling.

I opened the curtain of the night, turned over the sleepless sky, and left lingering warmth in those clear chapters. I saw myself walking in an ancient dynasty, guarding 3,000 silks, guarding tiredness, taking Ping as a boat, carrying Yuan Qu with peach blossoms, stepping on the verses of Han Feng Song Tu, barefoot along the flowing Yuet Moon, and running step by step towards my watery fleeting time.

How deep is the embroidered pavilion? I want to say it, but my heart sings all the way in the silent waiting. The woman in the jingle gown, with a faint smile, tried to find a way for you to cross the Millennium, feathered into a unique flute in your palm, and sang softly behind the carved west window of agarwood. Speak seriously. If you can, please! Please listen attentively, that boundless attachment is shallow and deep.

Listen, the flowers in the yard have fallen. Someone wrote a lonely melody for you. Who will sit down and listen? A song leaves the song, and then the song is seamless. Someone has long hair and eyebrows for you under the moon. On the branches in July, they quietly filter out the dust and dial out a string of night sounds; The sadness caused by leisure is integrated into the book of Tang poetry and Song poetry, which is lingering. Sparse a lute, light a curtain of dreams. ...

Three thousand dancing in the snow.

Three thousands of feet hair, dancing with the wind, just to get that one, looking back on past lives.

-inscription

Lightly relax your sleeves, and the autumn cold and wind will wrinkle the curtain. The night is like ink, the hair is like satin, and 3,000 hairs are bathed in quiet loneliness and dancing. For who? Scent makes eternal attachment immortal. Is that you? Or the worry I caused for no reason. Look, the night is so cold and beautiful. Quietly, under the lonely window, I gently touched a wisp of withered moss, lifted a gourd ladle of moonlight, and measured the lost family.

When we met, I was quiet in the colorful and inconspicuous corner with a flower smile. Suddenly, you are pitied by Fei Feng. So, gentle whisper in the ear, honey is still shy. The long-sealed heart blooms for you. You are magnificent, my cheeks are dizzy, and I am not familiar with the spring of that year. Let all loves shine, even make HuaLan jealous.

I always thought I would be you, my life, the most beautiful clothes and the last scenery. Knead into your arms, elegant hair is only proud of you. Just for you, and the fragrance is endless. Unexpectedly, the vicissitudes of life, the days that passed away, the beginning of the calf of love. The sun flies, but it comes and goes in a hurry I lost Zhu Yan and Qi Mei's sweet pillow.

Looking back, I smiled gently, like your heroic spirit, like my deep affection, as before. Look back only once, and you lift your heart like a flower. Before I could, I performed the legend of * * with you. Why? I'm not the protagonist in the play. Your turn left me standing alone in the wind, choking and crying. Three thousand moss, with the wind, want to drift and chaos, want to drift and light, have danced into the vast snow field.

The autumn wind is haggard and I can't sleep at night. I poured a glass of wine to the sky on the moon. In the past years, I have drunk all the romance, and I have drunk all the precipitation through the ages. Acacia, like a flower, condenses on the brow and secretes a faint fragrance. However, you should know that I have waited all my life just to confirm the myth of vows of eternal love. However, it is not your opponent, you are in your arms, fighting for fragrant peaches, pears and willows.

Conan dreamed, and he was worried about cicadas. Tears in succession, selling wine lightly, unexpectedly, can't blame this drunkenness. Thinking earnestly, love for a long time, ink trickling down, love is hard to stay. Climbing on the east wall of the moon, I was worried about ripples and blamed Qian Qian, so I left my lovesickness everywhere and my thoughts. I must have been you before, and my eyebrows were pounding. Otherwise, why? Your elegance and slight pity are wandering around in a misty skirt, gurgling endlessly. However, after you, your reserved indifference made me helpless.

I remember, in the dream of meeting, I left you one by one, you turned around silently, I was trapped in loneliness, but I made a mistake. In this life, flowers are in bud and can only bloom once in the world of mortals, charming once. Just because you can't pull it back, if it flows in a hurry. However, you missed the most beautiful period of flowers. My stubborn hope, your indifferent farewell, holding a delicate poem in your hand, has not yet been issued, and instantly disappeared in the vicissitudes of the Millennium.

It's close at hand, and heaven remains our neighbourhood. Why insist when we meet? Just stay together. The falling flowers outside the curtain have already left the ending of the play in their eyes. The end of the story, on the desolate little wall, peeled off layer by layer and dyed through layer by layer. And I pretend not to understand. Dancing in the wind, my heart is shaking, my heart is shaking, my beauty is getting old, and my tears are thousands. Where should I speak? I stared at the other side, but you turned a blind eye. I was trapped in the night and forgot to stop. Reach out, can't touch.

Is it predestined that fate comes and goes? Perhaps, I should have been humble, who cares about the right or wrong of dust, love and hate cause and effect, and be happy in the world of mortals. But memory played a trick on me, and I couldn't stop remembering. I'm still lying in the love story of my previous life, tossing and turning. However, you have long forgotten that the flowers, the dancing beauties and the 3,000 roses that have gone with the wind. As soon as I wave my sleeves, I want to talk and cry, and it's hard to continue. Gone lingering, a pipa, for whom? If you don't regret in this life, who will you be attached to?

As soon as you left, the string broke the pain of the heart curtain. The fate is scattered, and love is empty. A few wisps of affection, like a dream, dreams turn thousands of times, Wan Wan difficult to rest. Out of my dream, your transformation caught me off guard. Now, where should we pick up this residual sigh? Three thousand moss, who are you dancing for, and your heart is turning all the time? When a drop of cold dew in the night overturns a tender spring dream, I will wander among the stars in the small moon, travel through time and space and sing softly for you.

Concerned about you, thinking about you, a curtain of dreams, tender as water.

Don't give up, the ruthlessness of running water, the melancholy of falling flowers, curled up in the sleeves of clouds; Under the breeze and the waning moon, it is soft and spreading; My thoughts are long, and my thoughts are there, swimming under my slender fingers.

In the center of clouds and water, the poem was written by Shan Juan. Whose inner peace is the soft voice of Wu Nong? Under the moon, whose Danqing is Qiulian, and who gave your heart? The temptation between your eyes, whose amorous feelings are attached to, and any soft acacia are forgotten in the eternal sky, so that I can never reach your hand again. Let me never, never look back at you.

Dream, in the flowers and the moon. Wake up, in the bright eyes of cicada dew autumn branches. Lost, in the fragrance of blooming season. In a hurry, Leng Yue blue silk flying. Looking back layer by layer, the past is hard to mention. If the heart moves, it will take ten thousand years in an instant.

Blue leans against the cold window, and the residual flowers are sad. How to sigh, the world of mortals is rolling in a hurry, and suddenly looking back is empty. Looking at Sichuan from afar, my eyes are blurred and my tears are streaming. However, I still can't get out and can't see through it. How can epiphyllum be just a flash in the pan? How can it be a drop in the ocean? Strip away the charming beauty, but strip away the eternal sky.

Acacia is endless tonight. Acacia is traceless, and poetry binds the soul cream. Three thousand moss, then dance into snow, a little bit, a wisp, layer upon layer, countless sad songs. For the king, I will always dance together. In the sea, I am on cloud nine, and my tenderness is vivid. With the whimper of the bluebird and the whisper of the wind, in the forgotten dream, it is sad and beautiful, and it is a sigh that can never be recalled.

Weak water 3 thousand, who can release the lingering loneliness?

Oblique wind and drizzle, sparse flowers fall. Beauty, buried in long hair; Worried, secretly sent the scenery on the other side. Sadness, quietly hidden in the depths of the season; Lonely, gently hiding in the fog. Bow your head and drink the rain, hang your eyebrows and listen to the autumn chill, touch the old tenderness, salvage the past, sing Qin Feng in Luoshui, and touch the coldest memories in your heart through your fingers in the hazy rain curtain.

Listen to a clear song, take a whisper, count the fleeting years, and code the language of the years in a playful tone. The bustling building turns silently, and the lost beauty is a blurred injury. Cut the blue sky of time with the thinnest fingertips, describe the sunrise and sunset with the most exquisite language, and use China's pen and ink brush to stop on the tired shoulders and linger on the eaves of dreams.

Jinse's heart is full of sadness that she wants to say goodbye. Between the lines, it's all flowers or loneliness. My slender hands can't catch the fleeting time, so I have to cross the clouds of the years and put all the legends into my pen. I covered up my previous life in the story, fabricated tree rings with words, turned them into classics, and made history. After becoming popular on the water, it's my mystery.

I am a woman who likes to immerse herself in classical Tang poetry and Song poetry. I am listless, leaning back in my chair with long divergent shoulders. Under the fingers, it is carefully portrayed as a poem of Yi 'an, engraved in the letters of the years, and depicts the task of the Millennium cycle with beautiful stories. Gently dance your sleeves and print your name on the lintel with the purples of past lives. ...

An ordinary piece of paper bears the agarwood curling from the bottom of my heart, and the bytes of the chapter languish into a thin word while waiting. This life is only half a beautiful paragraph. Heart ups and downs, doomed to walk out of the ancient dynasty ... moonlight, holding the wind of Suzhou and Hangzhou, holding the water of Qinhuai. In this paper, a Tang poem is called and a song poem is sung. Vaguely in the west wind of the shutter, I stood by the Qinhuai River in my costume, carrying colorful lanterns, scooping water and wearing flowers as petticoats, crossing the red walls of the Tang Dynasty, crossing the smoke cages of the Song Dynasty, drifting through the romantic days of the Qing Dynasty, swinging with tenderness and being confused in the misty rain building; I relaxed my sleeves and danced in the cold wind blowing through the building. Among all sentient beings, we stick to the expectations of previous lives.

It is the dust carried by your shadow, stepping on the shadow of a thousand years, stepping on the blue waves of thousands of miles, ringing the drama of your love with me. I walked out of the bright red curtain and didn't need colorful clothes to cover it up. Your blue scarf and robe passed by and witnessed my watch ... when the water was weak, I only drank one float. If the love of the world of mortals is a talk, then I hope to intercept your happiness with a long narrative text and dance with the wine and turn it into eternity.

Lonely back, wandering through vicissitudes of life, walking through thin desolation, walking through a pile of dust, persistently guarding your and my scenery. The wind came and the dust went, and suddenly I looked back. Perhaps, you always use your wisdom to keep the flowers in your garden, and I can only wave endless sleeves alone, dancing until the sea dries up and the rocks crumble, dancing until the dust settles, dancing until the waves are calm, and dancing through the prosperity of my life. I tried my best to express my feelings, but I just touched myself. You should know that the so-called Forever is a performance with no ending, and it is a beautiful dream of Conan Huang Liang. A person is alone in a person's yard, lonely and sad, lonely and lonely, crying sadly.

Knowing that you are not strong enough, knowing that you are easy to get hurt, your face is light and the wind is light, what kind of heartache is your silent turn? Spread out your hands, blow down the clear sky, but swing down the ground, which is heartbreaking. "Qian Fan, who can give me thousands of Baidu attachments? With three thousand weak waters, who can release that person's lingering feelings? " Now there are only those long and short sentences, tangled with vows and lies.

The Garden of Eden is barren, and the fallen flowers are full of withered flowers. Stubborn, I would rather be lonely forever. Between going back and coming back, it's like watching flowers and waiting for death.

Prosperity is a dream. The pillow is full of water and mottled thoughts flow. It is the flower that laughs and dies, and the dust flies. The picture of you and me falling in love is fixed in the depths of your eyes. It is better to forget each other than to forget each other. Things in the world are so helpless after all. Even if there are beautifully carved pens and thousands of stacks of cursive notes, how can you write forever! Muttering poems, writing graffiti sentences, listening to the ebb and flow of the tide, and watching bloom's flowers falling and flying all over the sky are all just sad and sad. No hate, no trace.

Moonlight City, I looked up and invited the bright moon, singing my own past lives alone, surrounded by enchanting loneliness, and a wisp of bitter thoughts wrapped around my heart. Untie Russell's light belt and press countless thoughts on his chest. A deep sigh is unscrewed by a pair of hands and falls behind the dark night. I deeply know that some feelings can only be written on silk and red paper, and the fingertips can only be tied with a promise without export. There was no one to rely on in the wind, so I had to hobble along alone with the crutch of words.

Sit next to the text and look at the past and present; Quiet night, modern and classical shuttle. And I, let the sadness of this world wander in the past dream, a thousand-year dream, let the ancient rhyme flow with the wind and reverberate in my heart. "In the rhyme of Tang and Song Dynasties, it is my eternal solo dance!" The heart of an ancient Buddha is clear and silent. Sitting in the place where feng shui rises, I looked at the clouds rolling and relaxing. Smile at all beings with the most exquisite face. I don't know, after many years, do you still remember that I once cried for you? ...