I am not the green lamp of your past life
Time has only yellowed bookmarks and no unbeaten flowers.. The white space of time makes the ink mark of the story dry and moist with appropriate shade.. Memories are a handful of water you hold in your palm. No matter how pious you are, it will always slip through your fingers, and finally those water stains will be evaporated by time..
This year, I did not miss the joy of meeting you, the warmth of knowing each other, and the aestheticism of loving each other.. Tears of joy warmed the bitterness and sourness of long separation.. The warm embrace dispelled the torture and sadness of missing.. I face the cold season after season with a silent attitude and interpret the helplessness time and again with a smile.. How many fleeting years inside's past light sorrow and light mood have long been precipitated into warm scenery by years, carved on the heart wall, quietly waiting for the time to be painted white..
The lost days are like falling leaves and petals, and the lofty sentiments and romance of youth are fading away. I don't know how many storms reverberate in my chest and ears. I only know that vicissitudes have eroded my heart and climbed into my face.. Seasons change, time flies, I will never see rain beating pear flowers again, and I will never smell dimfragrance again.! I didn't want to feel sad, but when the night closes gently, there will always be a soft and aching feeling reaching my heart.. Fate comes and goes, flowers wither and flowers are fresh..
It rained again last night.. A stream of misty rain, a bit of idle worry, half-covering poems and books, half-pouring clear tea.. Quietly listening to the string sound of the drizzle knocking on the window, I was intoxicated with the scattered rhyme of wind and rain in inside when I was pregnant with light and distant thoughts.. In meditation, sandalwood curled up, and my slightly enlightened dry The Lips seemed to be stained with some warmth of sandalwood.. I came here from thousands of inside, but I am not the green lamp of your past life.!. When first meeting, the flowers are charming. Looking back, there was no trace of red.. A One More Kiss, a brush past, to you, shallow light, elegant as the wind. As for me, the poison of delicate and charming love flowers has already reached Down to the Bone.. I had to hide my tears in front of the deserted terrace, with a hint of rain.. The drizzle, tinged with melancholy like ink, flickered with tender love. (责任编辑：admin)