People grow up, the road is long, marriage is shallow, and love is short.

2020年4月15日   |   by 科姆龙


The remaining love is as long as a lonely smoke, running through the dusk, the sunset glow returning, blowing to wake up the silence. Thinking sink as night, rethinking look worry que, think twice she yu de, wind caressing mirror, yesterday the dust settles, tonight pen drunk galaxy.
I haven’t met for 1,001 times, and the fragrance is all over the ground. The newly blooming flowers this year make people return to the old dream, awaken the expectation and say spring again. Every season is like an opportunity. Meet Again, mind port nan yu, mind with Whisper, talking is, can’t forget, always read, don’t think big.
Where should my blessings float tonight? For whom to gather together to become a secret, I will use half of my life to solve the problem. Looking at the time passing by, looking at the long ruler of affection, measuring a little less, cherishing as if there is no source of water, drying like loneliness, and there is a pure sweetness in loneliness, as I think for a long time, as melodious as you are in the wind, building up a city in the past is the place I want to stay forever, and also the wall I want to climb over.
It was 1,001 times that I didn’t meet each other. I counted 1,000 memories and it seemed that I sang 1,000 songs to talk with me about wind and rain. The beauty who plays the piano together, the spring light and I drink Zui Feng, drunk with the spring scenery, drunk with the amorous feelings, not intoxicating.
I saw the new poem turning into a cloud, and I also saw the hazy in my heart. It was my fault that this long-separated meeting, how could I be the same person, writing the debt of missing and unable to see the helplessness in my heart, was the stage for two people to love each other, it is also a monologue for one person to enjoy himself.
I want to get close, he is too close to you. The expression of being anxious and crazy is just like the feeling of the heart. The Mad devil who is close and far, knocking the cause and effect will turn into Buddha, which is like the fate of evil, how long is the life of love.
There is sorrow between the lines. There is one more worry when I write here. There is only one year between this spring and that spring, and the sun and the moon turn 365 circles in my eyes. I can still hold up my expectation with a smiling face, but I can’t hold up my sadness and joy.
I haven’t seen it for 1,001 times, and the tears on my smiling face overflowed. I want to treat it as water splashing on the mirror. If I cry, it will be cowardice. If I try to be brave, it will be bitter. Let me wipe away my tears, strong to see the uncomfortable face on the mirror.
The moon is like a platform, full of joys and sorrows. 1,001 times no encounter, 1,000 more twists and turns.
Often meet, often recall, you say a word, I say a word.
What do you say about this life and the previous life, and what do you say about the fate to get together again? It’s just a romantic night like this. Sleep, dream, wake up, sigh, time can’t be separated and combined, finally, I regard this parting as a spark, and regard this youth as a squander.
I can’t tell whether I like it or not, but I prefer it to be too Qing Qian. I can’t tell whether I love it or hate, but I still quit the front line after a little more. But he was also concerned about that person. In a blink of an eye, the empty wind and gray thoughts seemed to be an extra futile window. I looked at the moon as if I looked at you, and the Moon regarded me as a passer-by.
Hope is always holding the moon in the water, but who knows that love is a fish. Disappointment sighs about the moon in front of the window, and every word of love does not give up. Hope that disappointment is full of Moon, sunny and round, flying in the wind without asking, hidden in the heart no one understands.
Not meeting for 1,001 times is like a miracle that you can’t touch. Catching a butterfly is waiting for you. Autumn is the funeral of a dream again. Opening a cold plum in the snow is still the pale memory.
Maybe the “pure” that I couldn’t find in my life, I waited to wake up the colorful spring. I only hope that the spring wind can bring the only meeting, instead of being disappointed as in previous years as a last dream.

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