Personality signature: What do you miss is desolation? 、? What's messy is feeling.

Turn into ink? Writing for you.

The awaken of spring is deep, the secluded window is silent, and Yi Deng is lonely. At this moment, my thoughts are blown away by the breeze. At the moment of opening the world of mortals, there seems to be a dyed mood, indifferent. People are still the same, and the years flow; The dream remains the same, and the sunset is old. Deep in the lights, I still remember my original heart. Sitting alone in the dark, watching the moon eager to talk and rest, I felt shy all over the floor. Remembering some sentences, "The only moonlight I remember in this life is the first string of curved eyebrows …", I couldn't help laughing. The ink was not dry before the case. ?

The night is quiet. Meditation, Ting Yun's water Zen rhyme, and the meaning of flooding into one, brushed his face. Whose heart is it? It is delayed and doubted at the end of the world. Whose hand is holding the reins on the other side of the bank? I don't know and I don't want to think about it. Only Juejun's face, at the bottom of memory, gradually hides and deepens. The wind is coming, the curtains are moving, gently rolling up the youth you left behind. The moon by the window reflects my slender sleeves, like a lotus flower. Flowers are dyed, and if the flute is blown into water, the string rhyme is idle. Drunk, drunk. I wonder if there will be your footsteps wandering quietly in front of the door full of imagination. ?

A cup of tea is cold. Deeper. In the distance, although the sun has faded; At this moment, flying is like dreaming. However, the world of mortals in my heart, the same story, several infatuations and several piques all fell into a glass of wine, and I was too drunk to wake up. My eyes and my thoughts wander together in the years. I'm tired of writing thousands of words, I hate the remoteness of the world and the shallowness of acacia. So, I kept calling your name in my dream, saying that the water was gone and that it was like the sea. Then, come with the wind, sail together, and talk about attachment. ?

Turn over the old words, but the ink remains. Each has his own pleasure, each has his own understanding, but each holds the other. I like to listen to the sound from where I hold hands. Fingers are speechless, but there is still warmth from afar, which is worth the absolute cold in Qian Qian. Your palm, my smile, everything, all have interdependent reasons. Listen, in the silent night, in the sky and the moon, there are vague words, whispering the gentle words of infatuation. Who is the shy voice, who is the pure blue voice? Scented all the way, stayed in the dream for a long time ...?

A sleepless night. But at this moment, it is calm and safe. From the initial knowledge to today's memory, it is like a flick of a finger. Yan in the mirror, as old; Do you know the idea on your eyebrows? I suddenly choked up at the thought of "life is like seeing for the first time" I was speechless when I thought of the resentment of "joining hands at that time and teaching who to fly away." So, quietly paused. Be quiet. The feeling of sadness has gradually disappeared in deep thoughts. I always thought that in an instant, I gave a lifetime of romance; I always think that falling in love is the most convincing reason. A poem, a sentence, becomes a delusion. It turns out that there is really an excuse in the world that can be reincarnated as waiting without regrets. ?

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So I hid in a song and prayed alone. The moonlight is just right tonight. Pick up inkstone incense and plant powder heart. Reminds me of the beautiful smile on your eyes falling into the water like a rainbow by the drizzling stone bridge. At that moment, the breeze blew, and my long hair was full of tenderness. The happiness of spring, light or thick, falls on the shoulders, layer after layer. So, tonight, there is only one sentence in my pen, tender as water, light and strong for you. ?

Wine stains on clothes and words in poems. At this time, pour a glass of light wine. Smiling, like watching a silent waiting for silence. Think about it, the ink is long and tender, and it will spell out the longest warmth tonight. Holding a scroll, listening to the strings of the piano, listening to the moonlight flowing. And I, deep in your eyes, smile. Tonight's words have nothing to do with the past. Close your eyes, it's just you. So repeated, safe and quiet. Just like the depths of the sea of flowers in spring, it is still shallow and lingering. ?

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I owe the intoxication tonight to you. Sitting in the words as warm as the wind, I read them again, but I still have unfinished business. The joy of love at first sight and the current sinking are all in one paragraph after another. Meeting and meeting again is a prosperous story. Such a night, a person, sitting alone and desolate, you come, smile gently, and leave a fragrance at the bottom of the pen. When you are gone, I miss you and cherish it. Please look up and see the tears in my star eyes and my wet and gentle sigh. Do you have the same pity and reluctance in your heart? ?

Imagination of you is like a word derived from the silence of the shadow of a flower. Accustomed to sitting in a distant legend, I understand your feelings, have a deep and shallow attachment, and have a deep and faint tenderness. When the wind blows and the rain blows, you float in the thick ink fragrance. For example, the meaning of a poem, such as the singing of a flute ... I will carefully pray for a perfect ending at the beginning of the story until I forget it and I am old. ?

Many times, the words in my hand are full of sadness. But, thinking of you. When holding a pen, there will be many distant or dusty memories that begin to emit a shallow fragrance, just like ink painting. Then, you can easily sit in a song, listen to the moonlight grow wings, carry the songs of spring across the ends of the earth, keep spinning and drifting away in the silent night, and all the feelings are finally long?

Now, when I can finally smile faintly in the text, I know that from now on, all my tenderness and all my troubles are because of you, but now I can't help it, and I can't help it. There must be your other shore. It's still spring. Your voice is still warm and clear after crossing the mountains and heavy waters. At this moment, I want to say something, but I can't write it. ?

"The story of the world of mortals is written lightly for you." At this moment, think quietly. At this moment, I heard the sound of Dimfragrance coming. When the pen tip passed by, my thoughts slowly grew wings and flew out quietly. All my thoughts are scattered on the singing bluebird with the water. With it, I rush to your sky with a season's thoughts. At this moment, I am so pious and so dedicated. ?

The tenderness of the world of mortals turned out to be off guard. Who and who made the story, no longer want to guess. That fake and true, strong and weak affection, never let you know, and I don't want you to know. I only know clearly that in the depths of Mo Xiang, you have become an inevitable robbery. In every night's dream, every bit of trace is as deep as a net. I really want to know if your arms will lead me to my dream tonight.