If you leave, only a song will send you off

The flowers are full of paths, and half a life is tender; there is no return, and there is no room for the rest of the life. - Caption

Xu is a past life and you met in the water pavilion Jiangnan, the small bridge flowing water river, light rain whispering, a leaf flat boat, I have been under the bridge, a smoke and rain, you on the bridge, a moment of hurry, the raindrops on your umbrella slipped down, I thought that the wet is tears, but I can't tell whether it is a dream or an awakening, and you, have gone far.

In the smoke and rain in Jiangnan, March is slightly cold, and the flowers that are graceful as jade bloom all over the city, and a few wisps of sandalwood smoke traces fade out of the agarwood of the previous dust.

As if in another world, smiling in your eyes, I saw the melancholy that had been drunk for a thousand years. Green silk magic snow peach blossoms fall, silent empty city this life mistake, between the paper and ink, quiet as clear water in the eyes but painted a bleak beauty, ink color rendering half paper away, after all, can not outline your face.

More than ten years of drunken dreams floating and sinking, I understand, you are in the heart of the red dust but far away, often lift the pen, with a paper of silent ink to write down the floating traces, and the loneliness hidden in your words only I understand.

I often stare at the cold and silent moonlight outside the window, under the flowers, sighing at the butterflies that fall with the flowers, but I have never picked up the fallen red, buried the residual flowers, and the residual fragrance fell in the quiet tea smoke. Do you not bear to annihilate the last wisp of fanghua, or have you already seen through the rise and fall of samsara?

The willows are like snow flying down lightly, boating on green smoke, boiling snow tea and wine. At that time, you were young and crazy, your back was always so free, your eyes were always smiling like dreams, and maybe there was a little pity and helplessness.

The desolation always leaves behind the prosperity of the past, and the prosperity is also the desolation that penetrates the bones, and those strands are entangled in the end and become a lot of scars.

The rain has not stopped, the tulle is lightly enveloping everything, in the daisy landscape, I hold an umbrella for you, green clothes and sleeves, looking at each other wordlessly, silent time, dyed through the flow of years. The world is desolate, how can the years be as quiet as ever? In your distant gaze, perhaps your yearning for that otherworldly place, I don't want to understand.

Green mist, the past is difficult to find, leaning on a pole of green bamboo, looking at the fallen leaves on the ground, listening to the clear sound of the wind from nowhere, remembering that you said that you don't love the chaos of the jade kite, and now I am blowing a purple jade pipe for you under the pear blossom tree on the strange top?

The dream of who gave the scorching prosperity of the years, like how careless the water flowed, how many peach blossoms withered, walked all the way through the lost path of the stranger, clear and shallow Shaoguang disappeared, the clouds were light and the wind was light, the youth was easy to grow old, the red face was fragrant, who was in the middle of time, forgetting us all.

After a song is blown, it will forget the past, let the memory return with the wind and rain, and no longer look forward to remembering the time spent together in the past years.

At that time, it was the dusk of the rain drifting, holding up the umbrella, strolling alone, the rain was fragrant, the cold and light cold incense, the rain was wet with green silk, and the heart was wet.

Pear blossoms are also in the rain curtain, looking forward to life, splendid, silent and quiet, such a plain pure white, like a light and shallow smile, watching the flow of years go far, the heart of the melancholy has a season of pure streamer.

Being in the right and wrong without asking, the current prosperity is not heard. The years have passed, why turn back, to not ask or hear to seek peace of mind, the past, the past, has been like a cloud of smoke. The clouds and water are still there, but there is no trace of you, perhaps, in this life, you should not linger in the red dust, I have nowhere to look.

At the end of time, it is the end of the year. Who is still waiting in the same place, who is still obsessed with the dust of a thousand years ago. If you can, why not forget about the red dust, and if you can't make the king safe, then may the king be safe in this life.

If you leave, there will be no end in sight.

-Author-

Pen name: Mu Chuyan. An ordinary person who loves to learn. High school student who loves writing. I hope that I can write a different kind of text in this impetuous and worldly environment.

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