I really want to go to Jiangnan, which is a dream that I have been doing for many years. Want to see the long Qingshi Lane, want to see the mottled blue wall Daiwa, want to see the deep courtyard, in the end imprinted on how many fleeting years of the past, leaving how many generations of splendor.
The wind in June, across the corridor of years, wakes up the sleeping wind chimes under the green eaves. Time, gentle and calm with the joys and sorrows of the world. Looking back, no matter how far we go, the lotus will still draw the moonlight from the pond, and the past will still bloom in the years.
Turn around, will be thick yearning, put in the corner of the season that first see, do not speak, do not speak. Nourish with Zen heart and sing softly with Sanskrit sound. How much I want to hold an oil-paper umbrella in the rain in June to accompany you quietly through the depths of Qingshi Lane. Look at the moss time, give birth to some poetic sentences on the bank of Su Di; look at some vanilla-like past, come and go in memory; watch some passers-by come and go. Once, the warmth of ten, always at this moment, such as this continuous drizzle, filled every blank in the depths of life. Be quiet, look at a picture of misty rain in the south of the Yangtze River, and slowly blend yourself into the painting. Through, this faint warmth, I hear the sound of the water, you party all the way, along the river, along the river.
I, against the current, welcome you with a wet eye. For the first time, I fell in love. There is a great joy hidden in your silent gaze. The wind in the middle of the eyebrow, let you flow. Even if there is no poetry all the way, there will be some precious and cherished, engraved in the door of fleeting time. Cut a period of time and take a closer look at the past. According to the depth of the bluestone lane, we can always let the scenery in our eyes be implanted into the fleeting years and let it sleep on the mossy bluestone.
Forward, dark fragrance filled sleeves. Wind chimes under the green eaves are swaying the splendor of the past. State of mind, leisurely. Passers-by feel a sense of regret, and finally can not write a narrow space left in life. Why not, extract a touch of the first memory from the streamer shadow. Lilac for ink, oil paper umbrella for paper, rhyme out of a plain as lotus Pingting. Even if you do not speak, I do not speak, there will be melancholy Qinghuan, coming from the city. If, one day, the lines on the paper lose their original color. I will still cherish these lotus incense for you, as well as the sun, rain and dew, dry on the ferry at the first sight. As long as you pass by again, you will wake up gently.
In the story of May, there is no dialogue. You are far away, so am I. A piece of melancholy alone accompanied me by. Zen romantic charm, a simple interpretation of the years. Just write down that my clothes flutter when you look back. The scorching heat of June, blowing gently from the bluestone alley in the south of the Yangtze River, meets the wanton misty rain. There is a slight coolness and a touch of moisture, just like the silent elegance when you smile.
Sparse film and green, the style walks in the ten miles of lilacs laid for you. Looking forward to meeting you in which ancient courtyard. At that time, despite these years of intertwined thoughts, in the moment of gazing, wanton blooming, wet arms waiting for your serenity.
With eyes, lingering with a hazy scene. I am sorry to remember that the spring blossoms you owe me have long been lost in the misty rain before I can get close. Looking back, the past over the years has already made my heart feel like a mirror. Picked up, put down, have become the years of Zen light, revealing tranquil Qinghuan.
Once upon a time, as graceful as snow, the money is on the stranger of the world of mortals. Ink fragrance for reading, glass for paper, the book under the years of brocade book. The light word an Tian has never asked how much the flowers are in bloom. Reunion is scheduled or indefinite, will give themselves a sunny warmth.
Hold on, the loneliness of an oil-paper umbrella will always walk alone in some deserted morning. Mossy time, then spread out in the secluded long lane, a wisp of lilac fragrance dripping in the heart, then opened a lilac garden.
Fleeting, quiet. Goodbye, Qingcheng. Light ink world of mortals, leave a first sight in time, give yourself a Yan ran. In your lifetime, if you are always here, we will only complain of warmth, not of death. Will see for the first time, freeze, let the bluestone lane's leisurely feelings, continue again, any time enchanting, prosperous years.
Gazing, the trace is shallow. I waited and waited, read and read the appointment, passed through the long lane of ink and ink, and met under the oil paper umbrella over the years. Mossy time, next to the old door. Deep courtyard, speechless, piled up like a weave of the past. Let yourself blend into the green of Qingshi Lane and the fragrance of lilacs. Let the poetic feeling of looking back faint shallowly in the course of moving forward. Spare time, pull a wisp of misty rain, I in the damp years, looking back on the past. Every passer-by drifting in Yunshui has become an unreplicable scenery at the entrance of Qingshi Lane. Every casual encounter became the most beautiful legend under the oil paper umbrella that year. And you have become the most profound blank in my life.
Encounter Jiangnan, every crack in life is full of poetry of misty rain. In the glass time, the drizzle knocks on the window lattice, dense with the moist mood. At this moment, casually open a memory, like a time covered with mossy in bluestone lane, wet by Rain Water. Qingdai's past is reflected in the deep walls of the mottled courtyard. Would like to ask, an inch of time at the end of the world, whether there is still misty rain dependent warm? That time gazing at the heart, gentle who lonely years?
Sunny after the rain, with a Qingwan, style. Don't be surprised when my footprints are covered with mossy stone steps. I have read you thousands of times in my heart, and the familiar and strange white walls and green tiles in the dream, such as the ancient plum in the deep courtyard, are slowly blooming. For you, there has always been a dream that I can't let go. Just because of the first meeting that I didn't invite.
The gradually damp memory is the faint shadow of the south of the Yangtze River outside the window, telling me the dusty past. Life is like water, passing through dust. Dream of living in the south of the Yangtze River, who accompanies me to smile in the breeze? Who will accompany me to dance around the world?
Already accustomed to keeping an insipid share in the hustle and bustle; insisting on a simple in the prosperity. Countless days of daydreaming about you are full of misty rain and rain that refuse to rest, and some wet mood. You are far and near, extinguishing my yearning that I can never change.
We are doomed to have many chance encounters in our life. Run into something, run into someone. Perhaps, there is no intersection of warm, but always leave the most beautiful memory. If you miss it, think of it as passing by occasionally. After the passage of time, there is always some scenery that belongs to clear.
The sunshine in June is still so warm and pleasant. Love is leisurely because of waiting. The breeze brushes the face, there is a kind of unspeakable love. Deep in the alley, the man, the flower, such as poetry, picturesque. Standing still in the clear shadow of Jiangnan, do not speak, do not speak. That warm word, has not been exported, why has already been torrential tears?
Light ink Jiangnan, just want to keep a first meeting for you. Hold the pen to miss, pillow a curtain of mountain green, you have always been the smoke and water in my life. Xu, originally a silent woman, likes to follow the warmth of fleeting time, in half a time, research a pool of ink, write some light Qinghuan. There is always a moment when I feel like I have an unfinished relationship with you. Otherwise, why see all the legends and scenery about you, will have a sprout in the heart. Looking back, you have always been the scenery I am waiting for.
Imagine that one day. In a hazy drizzle dawn, a person, holding an oil-paper umbrella, stepping on the ground with fallen flowers, Tingting walked on the wet bluestone, enjoying the morning light of the Jiangnan water village. Smell the fragrance of lilacs in the damp, unconsciously, drunk. I was on the bridge, going down against the wind. You are under the bridge, facing the wind. Smiling, he insisted on handing me a cup of freshly brewed chrysanthemum tea and invited me to watch the passers-by, and then wipe my shoulders.
In this poetic ancient town in the south of the Yangtze River, it may be more suitable for two feelings. Lilac girl's oil paper umbrella is no longer lonely, every misty and rainy day, Yiyi's figure has become the most beautiful scenery in Wuxiang, Qingyi. Small bridge and flowing water is still as quiet as the years. And I cross thousands of rivers and mountains, in the end, it is not your return.
You said, if God is blessed, when you are old, and when I am old, I have nothing to worry about. At that time, I will be waiting for you here.
I said, if you and I have been in, bridge, running water, have not changed direction. Then, I will wear plain clothes in Tsing Yi, wash all the lead, and accompany you to watch the misty rain of your life.
Walking in Zhouzhuang, I am also like a butterfly. Just because you are here, roll with me. Turn around, freeze all the scenery in the first sight of the ferry, may we live up to our time, just like the first sight. Let me, in a warm you give me, write a song, love you, no regrets!
The day when you are silent is a city of few joys. A person's travel, a little lonely. Leave a love at the entrance of the waiting alley. If you come from afar, I will give you the fragrance of lilac all the way. Let the leisurely bluestone lane freeze in the ink of my life, treasure!
Life is insipid after all. For some people, some things, gradually used to cherish in silence. Quietly guarding a mutual acquaintance to know each other, no need to disturb from time to time, occasionally read, there is also a kind of unspeakable warmth in the heart.
If you know, I do not need pleasantries, no need to deliberately, I think you will be the same as me, quietly on the waterfront, clouds and smoke pavilions, accompanied by security, silence like.
If you do not understand, dance for you all your life, even if deliberately, may not be able to keep. The past is a picture of water and clouds in the distant mountains, poetic and quiet. Across the world of mortals, looking at you, affection is just right.
Always do not like deliberate, habit, follow the heart, go with the fate, go with the situation. If you stay, I will always be there. Safe companion, no regrets, no resentment, only gratitude. This journey, the landscape of Qinghuan, I will not easily leave, will not easily say goodbye. What is put in the heart is always in the heart, nourished by piety and moist with understanding.
When one day, we grow old in time, too old to go anywhere. Will you still accompany me to count the gray hair and watch the sunset haze? This encounter is not only the first sight, but also forever. If time is not old, we will not part. Keep half the time, we work together to study a pool of Jiangnan ink, write poetry, painting. Just remember that the flowers are in full bloom, regardless of how far the road is. Then, with a cup of tea time, read the time flies.
Words / glazed sparse film
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