Text/Mei Lai
Shallow thoughts, like a bay of bright moon reflected in the heart sea, a nostalgia filled the ink rhyme cold, sitting quietly in the red dust, tasting sad thoughts.
The idyllic poignancy, the joy of drinking, the drunken years between the thoughts and the fall.
A slow song rhymes, how much love flows, the expectations of love, all slowly go away with the weak water three thousand.
Fingertips thinned the candle flame and added to the night. Your smile is as delicate as a peony flower, plucking the wind strings for me as a song, blowing off the flowers to sleep for the pillow.
The sound of geese was helpless in autumn, and in the winter of that year, we could not carry each other, but we were warm. In the spring of the following year, I insisted that the raindrops would turn the memory into a river, and the sleeves would be torn under the eyes.
I want to follow your direction, cross thousands of mountains and rivers to see the shadow you left behind, leave your once dancing mark in my dreams, and let the soul and flowers in my heart fly together.
The years are sudden, the flowers are a tree, and in the souls that are nestled next to each other, there are many sentences to be written. The wisp of green smoke that was once written on the tip of the pen, in the thought of flowers and lotuses, dreamed for a thousand years.