The two love each other, know each other like mirrors

"Dongshan Moon Plucking Strings, Drunken Red Face" | text: Junlan

"We are two lovers, all the way to the rain"

/01/

The cup glittered purple and was slightly drunk and cold, and the cloud carried the dream of the duck to destroy the heart and liver.

Thousands of miles of souls fly the spring river is short, and the return period of the moon exploration is rising.

Since the frozen heart was unsealed, this golden lotus bloomed on the peak of the Green Netherworld. Swing dream, Jiangnan four seasons like spring. In the smoke and rain of Jiangnan, I swept the willow side horizontal flute, blowing the spring water of Jiangnan and dyeing the miserable grass on the green curved bank. I often wear green clothes fluttering, jade belts with flowers and cold winds, holding a sandalwood jade fan, walking on the stone steps of the bamboo forest filled with snow and smoke, a column of deep and thin foot marks snaking behind me.

After years of warmth, the confusion of the past was thrown in the wind, and I embraced this fresh, sonorous step and returned to the original place.

Who is it, Ye Man trying to branch, holding the wind to explore the slanting sun, half-concealed, whispering heart? Who is it, walking in, red cheeks, pink snow skin color, plump and delicate posture shocked life? Qin Xian, this butterfly than the wing of you, this fuqin light drink you, this white magnolia in the willow bank spring ink smoke, in my heart pool rippled microwave. I stroke you with the purest heart voice and blow you into my dreams. In the dream, you fly flowers and dance, the wind is low, and I have a touch of perfume in the south of the river.

Jiangnan QuXiang, drizzle soft sun, paving a road of poetry and moss words Xuan, a lace umbrella, to open our warmth. In the red fat, green and thin, we are side by side, vaguely strange state of mind, light and fragrant, the ghostly feelings of the vines, quiet and warm. Even if it is silent, it is a wave of three rivers. Some things, a heart, a heart. Like the flowing water of the clouds, the green onions and ink, only yan is inferior to the small window of the thick feeling. Holding hands, deep in the ancient town, pacing and admiring the moon. Long Shang Fei Smoke Phantom Butterfly, left and right, accompanying the flowers. Watch the reflection of the river mirror on both sides of the mirage, the swing of the waves, the feminine Phoenix, 100,000 hearts.

/02/

The dust looks back, and the smoke and rain in the south of the Tijiang River. With the light and dust flowing for years, with you to snuggle up, with each other. Enjoy the splendor of a fireworks stream, and the blandness of the flowing water of the mountains. The heart of the piano shines fresh, looks at the Tang poetry and song classics, cuts a stream of light, is funny, wanders in the path of the two of us, is born in a clean and elegant way, and points out the twilight of the smoke willow. Or, raise a glass to the three living stones, drunk, flying red clothes, dotted flying around the fingers, let the annual rotation, wind and dust crazy, only you and me, lotus branches, Yanchi Xianghui.

I am independent of the East Mountain QiongLou, in the oblique Hong Array, looking up at the Shazhu Bank. Between the clouds and the water, the silk was blue, and I saw a line of egrets on the sky, which aroused my deep thoughts about your heart. Forget, forget, what night? At night, the moonlight is sparkling, and the stars flapp the wings of the magpie. In the east mountain west building, I was dressed in a robe, a piano, looking at the end of the world.

Cut a bouquet of moonlight, fry a glass of red wine, and crystal dry intestines. The heart pool rippled and spread an intoxicating charm, swaying with the wind, entangled, and filled my vision. The spirit of the rhinoceros moves, raises a warm glass, and the moon plucks the strings, caresses the flowing water of the mountains for you, and makes you indulge in my shallow singing and whispering to you.

Thoughts spread quietly, and I can't stop the waves of thinking about you. Unforgettable, the most memorable lotus branch shakes red, the long pavilion sings late, eight hundred miles three send difficult farewell, the singing people are not alive. The sound of the whistle made people cry, and the car was painfully ripped at the moment. Happiness is difficult to embrace all the way, and Lao Yan lightly hates and loses his soul. Since then, thousands of attachments, thousands of sorrows, crawled into the net of my eyes. The two sideburns are cool, and the dreamy picture flutters in the faint paradise. The leaves fall on the city, the floating clouds are heavy, and the heart pool is cool. Looking forward to the vast starry sky, the pear blossoms are white, and they want to dye me green silk into frost.

The West Building is timey and shallow. I stood in the corridor of light and shadow, looking back, and the memory of this curtain being stranded was like a wisteria vine. This thought, sweetness, away from the hurt, lamentation, longing, has transformed a river of spring water, do not have to deliberately think, the ears often hear the waves lapping on the shore, the tide rises and falls, always buckle my heartstrings, let the wind blow my tears flying. The past scene after scene, composing a beautiful montage image, made me thinner and thinner, and I became as fragile as blue and white porcelain, lost in the darkness of the blooming pods in early spring.

My eyes shone with melancholy light alone, and my heart was helpless, suspended in the air. I would love to call you back, to cling to me, and never wander again. I miss, I worry, I suffer, I fry, I haggard for you, I feel sorry for you. I poured out my love to the night, and the tear-drenched memories dripped into the rolling waves of the Xu River. Winged meteors streak across the sky, bringing the sound of my heart into your ear bags. I hope that you will break through the confines of dreams, swim against the current, and relive the glory of the past wind, flowers, snow and moon, and continue the love of a lifetime.

Yuntai Baozheng, caressing the grievances and hatreds of the past life, the wind and rain. I am not willing to be hurt by that sword, not willing to be misunderstood after that farewell, and cannibalize the strength of my lifelong dream. After the bitterness of the cold night and the coolness of the world, I still look forward to the deep and vague hope, walking in the drifting zero with a piece of love and pity, and winging you to blow away the frost on my heart for me. I clung to the agreement, watched over the moonlight, and guarded the city alone, with a unique sadness. I firmly believe that I am guarding the vicissitudes of this dream on this bank of the Jiangnan River, the truth will shine in the darkness of the night, and you will eventually step on the waves to me and return home, so that the season I am waiting for will not fall short.

The strings are empty, and the red wine is drunk. A lotus flower rises in a trance, and the Buddha's light appears. I understand that I have waited for you for a thousand years before I met you in a dream at the entrance of the alley. You waited for a reincarnation, and only a hundred years later, on this port, met me. At this time, I am passing through the eighty-one difficulties of the heart, waiting to be reunited with you. Wait for you to come to Jiangnan, with me, to see the mandarin duck green willow, to the cardamom tip to collect the spring light infinite, to listen to the sound of flowers in the wind and rain, and to taste the symphony of love in the world.

Smile and embrace, the spring river and the moon and night flowers are drunk, and the east wind is peachy. I use simplicity to paint the seasons of Fang Fei into burning poems, and you watch with gentle infatuation and chant into the thirteen strings of Wu Yin that fluctuate in my dreams. We are two lovers, all the way to the rain, all the way to the sprinkling, sweet and sweet, in the dream of drunkenness for a thousand years.

Image source network, invasion and deletion

author

Pen name: Junlan. Creation comes from thinking, and only those who are constantly thinking will rub out the spark and inspiration of creation.

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