Once that deep-cut love has long withered in the memories.

The night wind blows, the smoke is light, the sky is full of bleak wind and fallen leaves, whose yearning has affected the heart that has been closed for a long time. Moonlight sprinkles, full of white frost, the night is infinite, but also blowing Acacia resentment. Can not take away, is the blurred eyes in the noise, but also the smile of disdain in the loneliness. The night is beautiful, like a pot of wine, intoxicated together, a person is located under the starry sky, enjoy the prosperity of the world, drifting life will be free and easy, perhaps, what we lose is what we should cherish in our hearts.

How many joys and sorrows, how much love, hate and ignorance, why happiness is always accompanied by regret, this is the ruthlessness of the world, or the sorrow of fate. Silver flow, into the dawn of madness, non-face is not true. The rising sun reflects the face of the years, which is contented and kind and peaceful. The elongated figure, how long, how sad.

The door into the dust, the mottled traces, the vicissitudes of the years, the helplessness of reincarnation, buried how many brilliant in the past. Looking at the past that can't bear to look back, the last hope is just a dream, the figure chasing away, can not return to the souvenir of a moment. Blurred vision, regret, concern, uneasiness. The cold wind is bleak, the dust is flying, the scene in front of me is illusory, uncontrollable tears gush out like a spring, silent. Once missing now still how much, the past sweet now still remember how much, the rest, inextricably linked, the wind flying catkins.

We do not know how far we have gone, how many times we have repeated, to repay the endless hope of this life, but in the end there is no trace of satisfaction. The setting sun sets, full of endless gloom, the clothes fall in the rain, condensing into little tears, all falling dust. We have been hiding the past, do not want to mention, do not want to think of, only to find that we have paid so much, but have not returned anything. The shadow that cannot be seen, the heart that cannot be called back, and the feeling that cannot be retained, like a dream that cannot be realized, dissipates in the clouds and smoke.

A river, forgotten by name, overflows with desolation. A bowl of Mengpo soup, forget this life, in exchange for the afterlife. A stone, standing on the bank of forgetting Sichuan, is called Sansheng. A well, indicating the afterlife, a familiar figure, a face, for the king.

Love, hurt, learn to be quiet, learn to be numb, learn to be patient, learn not to be capricious, learn to wear off edges and corners. Then sit alone in the corner and lick the wound. Every lonely night, a person weeps silently, for others and for himself. Thousands of mountains and rivers, bumpy flow away, when can we meet again!

In a few decades, if one day, when you pass me by, I still recognize you, because I have put everything about you deep into my heart, but the love that once endured has long withered in the memories.

This article is from: (dancer QQ:824591745)