That constant mourning and confusion, why, or that piece of the dream? Has my heart ever been banished like this? I walk alone in your world, why do I always choose to stay for you like that?
My heart has long been precipitated, not my fault, but the sadness and regret of the past. Like the light lotus in front of the Buddha, it gradually withered in the cold wind, and the Buddha, whose incense was endless, smelled endlessly, smelled it, and the heart was empty.
Tonight, the snowflakes are falling again, and a cold moonlight has fallen on my night sky. I will hold this cup of tea in my hand and tell it of my presence in an instant. Against the vast night sky, I knew that it would cover and never regret it again.
It's my fault, my fault, it doesn't matter to me anymore, I'm going to sandwich it in my book and wait in the tunnel of time.
I don't know what kind of story I'm going to have, and I won't know what kind of memories I'm going to lose, and what will be the eternity of my life. I know that it will be preserved in my memory forever and will never dry up again.
One night in early autumn, a round of moon outside the window was in mid-air, and I don't know what traces of autumn it had hidden, but the heart and dreams of the once young people had been washed out at a speed beyond time.