The snow fell silently. I sat in the silent wind, counting the trajectories of the snowflakes falling, and beyond the dusty window of my heart, I searched for whispers from the depths of the snowfield.
Can the face outside the dream, the face outside the thoughts, still be there?
Looking down under the lonely eaves, those glittering scenery is long gone, only the hot and scalding heart is still there. Staring in silence, faintly painfully aware of the long-cherished wish in his heart.
The white flame is burning, the dull language is silent, and the gentleness of the warm dream is still there, gently wandering in the peaceful and tranquil home.
I am not a wanderer, but my heart is wandering.
The seduction of da zixiang, stroking the eyelashes of May, those purple-red colors soar through the smoke and rain of March in the south of the Jiangnan, quietly perched in the clouds and scenery of the northern mountains and rivers.
The trembling of a string, the haggard face of the land in the depths of the snow, and the snow dance led me to the time and space of ethereal fantasy.
That idyllic smile, like Snow White's feminine freshness, that clear singing voice, intoxicated in the palace of my soul. Within the gaze, the white fireworks lit the pillar of heart incense, and the hot tears on the cheeks flowed freely, soaking with the sweet fragrance of May.
The flicker of a few fireworks, the obsession that led me to the illusion, is you! I don't know if I was broken by the cuckoo in May, or if I was confused by the snowflakes of winter? The sky is high and the earth is far away, and I still understand that the love of this life allows me to sing for you with my whole heart and the condensation of my life.
If it is you, please soothe me with the posture of green leaves and the language of the wind, and warm my unchanging perseverance and vows in the gap I am waiting for.
The fairy tale red lotus stage opened, and the frogs echoed my heart's words. I saw the dancing dragonfly gently perching on the little heart of the wind lotus, the fragrance of the spleen, and the blush makeup washed with shame.
This winter's wind and snow have soaked my mind, so that I must not have a little leisure to worry about the past.
Or, let me also dress up as a lotus flower, pour out my heartfelt intestines to the charm of the pool, comb the endless tenderness and entanglement of lotus silk, weave the love web of three lifetimes, and let the swaying skirt fly with the beautiful imagination of a real fairy tale.
Are the thoughts of those jujube trees, the images of red willows, the sand finches of the year still flying in a happy paradise?
Bathed in the illusion of snowflakes and love, the stagnant gaze rises in the waiting of the mirage. When did the holy radiance of the Image, like the Virgin Mary, come to me from the song of the Guan Guan Ju Dove?
The coolness of the snow, listening to the whispers of the heart, savoring the mood of hope, I could not find a proper word to express sincerity. In that sweet spring-like clear laughter, do we ever want to sleep with idle clouds and wild cranes?
Is the wisp of candlelight in the distance the sorrow of your heart? Is this flying spirit the thought of your heart?
With a crisp sound, the strings of the heart plucked were suddenly broken. Standing beyond your eyes, can I interpret the imagination of red dust for your beauty?
In the days of waiting for love, I am still the same as ever. I still stubbornly kneaded my tight feelings into the lines of the poem, stubbornly put her into the deepest recesses of my heart, waiting for the breath of spring to awaken the nightmare that had been sleeping for too long.
Just like your bright eyes, in the distant sky, staring and seducing me silently. It's still the song: "Whoever moved my strings called me to the window, and the floating boat was on your side in the middle of the night." Whoever leaned on my piano pillow dreamed of a full moon at night, and thought that only butterflies could be made on either side of each other. Whoever makes you and I quiet like the moon can only meditate in your heart, and the swallow under the eaves flies to your side for me. Each lonely mistaken string, the curtain of the wind blowing to see the moon people sleepless, who moved my string, the lake that will be crossed, the depth of the future is difficult to predict, who let you move my string, this time over and over again, awakened the shadow of the lonely embedded night. ”