The trail of a kite, half a piece of sand, if there is starlight when it falls, if there is a bit of reserve, green pool, old time, the loneliest star in the universe, the secluded alley in the deep courtyard, the lingering drizzle in Milan, things have quietly ended, empty eyes, @ Wu Ye flat @ laughing like poison, all blame the time is too beautiful.

I can't miss my paintings, I can't whisper about flowers, I can't spend nine years on ancient trees, and I want to stay in Shenzhen and Hong Kong for a long time just to keep one person, dance with flowers, eat fruits, drink vicissitudes of life, wear white clothes and drink alcohol in my youth.

Flowers dance in tears, years are bound, wishful thinking, there was no cool wind in the south in the old days, how to remember an old friend, tired and cold, one night out, ten miles of peach trees drunk in spring, holding hands without remembering worries, laughing at those years, returning home, the breeze holding the heart, the fleeting time is peaceful, the heart has been given away, Victoria moonlight, the sky.

Poor mountains and water are even poorer. Luan Zhifu's words, ten summers and nine miles, ┉ Yaya (~) ┈, are not intoxicating, and people are drunk. They swear not to pass by in the misty rain, chasing fireworks and rain in the wind, and singing shallow songs.