The street is long and there are many fireworks, so you can look back by the light. Short pavilion is short, the world of mortals is rolling, and I sigh again.

Four water lanterns, three flowers, two scenes and a warm song.

Stepping on Bai Shu, playing umbrella bridge under light rain, dreaming of a pot of wine and a white suit for life.

That year, cardamom promised that the world would grow old and the present would be weak, and I laughed at my sea and rocks.

It's windy and drizzling, and the curtains hang. Several songs of Pingshan, in Liu's place, are all lightly fragrant and leisurely.

Build a picture frame, walk into the painting and slowly settle in the quicksand of the years.

A cup of coffee, a piano, a piece of sunshine, an afternoon.

In the warm sunshine, it falls like a feather, sits in the dust and opens a flower.

Sometimes you have to smile and act like everything is fine, hold back your tears and walk away.

Watching the flowers bloom and fall in front of the court, the honor and disgrace are not surprised. Looking up at the sky, I have no intention of staying, and I have no intention of staying.

Dangui, orange fragrance, fallen leaves, wind passing. No trace. Red maple, wheat fragrance, chrysanthemum in full bloom, people scattered. No trace.

Dream back to the deep alley, the window of the small building is quiet, the eyebrows are slightly wrinkled, there are no countless knocks under the umbrella, and the words are sad in the rain. Do you remember that the years have rotted away?

The wind shakes the branches and leaves, the rain and tears leave the red, the snow deceives the grass, and the deep courtyard locks exquisitely.

Tell me, when I feel tired and scared, how do you know what to say to make everything better?

The wind has passed without a trace and the flowers have fallen.