A pulse of heart, love is also beautiful

Qu zhi, counting the stars and thinking of love, on the lake surface, the wind blows the lotus lotus swaying out of the fine and dense snails, the layers of nets under the next day's stars, the noise of the day and the glitz carefully folded together, reflecting the distant mountains in the water, they withdrew from the floating light of the water world, blurring the original lushness and glory. The crooked crescent moon also seemed to realize the duty of the old man of the moon, and his face was covered with a faint moon halo, I don't know if it was shame, or whether he hid in the depths of the clouds with interest, only the skirt behind him, the raw life tore off a few scattered clouds, the confession-like scenery of the night, and the quiet loneliness of the world after sleeping.

Occasionally a frog or two sounded through the lotus pond, the long sound of dragging the tail pierced the night, the moment it fell on people's eardrums, there was a damp taste in the heart, and the tired body also collapsed like a willow branch of a tree, softly upside down on the water's shore to look into the distance. Looking at the stars of the universe, a world dotted with stars, a huge planet, how can I pay attention to my lonely eyes, pay attention to the loneliness that can't find the warm exit of the world. Selfless, or completely oblivious? Only the love carved in the heart of the eyebrow knows. Wipe away the tears that remain in the corners of the eyes like to tease, hold up the still pure white in the heart, dip three or two drops of dew, pick up a few strands of floral fragrance, and the wisps are adhered to the breath of spring, it is so warm to the eyes, mellow, and also dissipate people's will...

Maybe love really has to go through a thousand sails, maybe love really has to go back and forth a thousand times, but I don't regret it, because true love is always worth waiting for. Waiting is arduous, such as the embankment near the water waiting for the late spring tide, the sparkling waves are always glowing with thoughts like water, stirring up a circle of ripples from the center of the wave to the outside - straight out, a circle of hidden worries, a circle of acacia pushing the waves to the embankment, only the wave heart seems to have a sweet perception. The tide is like thinking, the water is like a thought, only at this time, the cold and warmth in the distance are better than everything, which may be too much emotional investment, or it may be too focused.

When love comes, the mysteries that cannot be said are like the rain in May, the softness of the April rain is less boneless, and indeed there is more of the urgency of the June rain. Acacia, imperceptibly transformed by love, such as a rain of natural change, lightning and thunder, whistling from the place where the sun rises, the wind always plays an indispensable role, sonorously interpreting the prelude to rain. There will always be traces when the wind passes, rolling up the branches and leaves of a tree, blowing off a red place, writing "Before the rain, I first saw the flowers between the flowers, and after the rain, there were no leaf bottom flowers." Bees and butterflies have gone over the wall, but they doubt the spring color in the neighbor's house, and only at this time, the bow in my heart seems to come back to life flexibly, and the enclave seems to break through the shackles of the atrium, and a vein of agarwood dances in the wind, sniffing for a flower that seems to have been familiar in the past life and this life.

Love someone, shallow joy, beautiful love, the needlessness of the hearth poetry to tell her, sometimes, just choose a distance to slowly appreciate, just because it is not yet love to die and live. Like to listen to her voice, see her smile, the small mole on her chest, still half covered, but also want to say rest, or February in the spring, but also hidden to spit buds, this shallow like, such as drinking clear tea, light but silent, picking off the lamp flowers, full of Zen, is the silver bowl of snow In the plain, but also listen to the water of the clouds, very leader like, but also extraordinarily compassionate.

Blossom is to bear fruit, always can not blindly blossom fruitless, fruitless flowers are not the choice of love, no matter how fragrant the flowers are, how gorgeous the blossoms are, even if it is a high-quality red rose, or a white rose with pure blood, although they are rare rare treasures, such as not having a chance with themselves, I would rather choose a black rose or a blue rose. The so-called persistence, self-preservation and pursuit, are only the vain names of those who cover their ears and steal bells, and those who want to leave will eventually leave. Such flowers, can only be used for ornamentation, is the flower arrangement placed in the vase, is the florist in the hand to show off the capital, I would rather retreat, rather than envy the fish, and I have no luck with the flowers, it is best not to bloom in my case and bedside, rather than indiscriminate, sometimes, the flowerless world is just as beautiful.

The soul of the flesh, there is no reincarnation of three lives and three lifetimes, in this world, you are my flower, I am your fruit, and the past and present lives of love are filled in the core of the flesh. Peel off the bright red and seductive tender peel, smell, mellow and fragrant, eat, lips and teeth aromatic, think of it, can also make people salivate. The trunk of love is already full of fruitful fruits, and the moment when the melon ripens and falls, it is the result of the flowers pouring out their whole lives, a new beginning in the journey of life, a harbor from one shore to the other, a spiritual station with two joys, and a beautiful flower that never withers.

Thoughts like the beginning, love as always, you did not rebound the lute, I did not blow the flute. Although the hut built in the bottom of my heart near the water has bred some moss through the wind and rain, the original appearance of the hut is still alive in my heart. I don't know when, the fluttering ping that used to be suspended in my heart, unconsciously grew roots and whiskers, and the vigorousness of the slush claws in my acre of flower fields was fragrant. If my love used to be a love hot pot, spicy and fragrant, very exciting and very intense, then now, how I hope to have an opportunity to give me a chance to ripen. My life is a cabbage tofu that I can eat every day. Home-cooked food is more delicious than all the delicacies in the world, comfortable, delicious and warm, and importantly, it does not hurt the spleen and stomach.

Love, an eternal topic, has been sitting at the top of the pyramid since ancient times, no matter whether the world is stormy or not, whether the world is hot and cold, love, always so fresh, always the darling of public attention, a noble family. The weather outside the window is unpredictable, is it wind, rain, wind and rain? As long as the day overflows with love, it must be warm, warm to you, warm to me, and warm to the world. The long journey of life, those young years, those crush times, even those painful tattoos, turned out to be the most beautiful time in life.

Life is a sentient being, this hatred is not related to the wind and the moon, it can be obsessed with a person once, it is a blessing, it is a blessing cultivated for several lifetimes. Love, sometimes so simple, pure, simple, more like a cup of boiled water placed around, within reach, thirsty, let people feel cool and enjoyable, drink a cup will look forward to the next cup.

That kind of cheerfulness, that comfort, hate can not let their own physique and spirit, life and death and love in the same pulse in the same pulse, the same in a sound wave of ups and downs, the same in a peach blossom source of love indulgent. Love, in fact, is a slow process of waiting, just like the bitter tea aroma in Zen tea, tasting slowly on the tip of the tongue, moistly crossing the tongue moss, swallowing an obsession in the elegant living room, paved with Youlan scrolls blooming with large flowers, allowing thousands of thoughts, at both ends of the world to resist the entanglement of death.

If life is a beautifully bound book, love must be the most beautiful title page in the book. The beautiful time recorded in the book, every minute and second has passed to the heart, at that moment, the elegant throat knot and the undulating chest are smooth, free, consistent, beautifully liked, warmly loved, not wasted, not sad and happy and sad, and even liked the trivial troubles in the dust, liked the necessary flaws in life. Love to the sore, not dead and alive, not the world falling apart, not the mountains and the sea oath, but those wordless care and blessings in ordinary days.

Love is a classic, love is a legend, and love is the beginning and end of one soul warming another soul. Even if you are unfortunate enough to get lost in this life, fool, don't cry, I will still look for you under that flower tree in the next life. We must believe that love is immortal, and I owe you in this life, and I will definitely pay it back in the next life!

The beauty of love is the romance that comes from the soul, the bright love of the heart, the day of love, the ink hall shines, the eyebrows fly and dance, the spirit is flying, and the hands and feet are vaguely revealed. That leisurely, that kind of refreshment, listening, moving; Look, Xinyi. The happiness of wandering in the river of love, only hate can not be shared by the people of the whole world, is the joy of the family to help people return home, it is so pleasant, mellow, fragrant, love is also beautiful.