Sad Flower Moon, the heart reads love sorrow

Pour out a picture of mountains, describe a journey of clouds and water, and look for the falling past in the memory of dreams. The milky white of a tree Begonia reflects the shadow left by the waning moon. A few pieces of stretched glass create a graceful and beautiful image. Curved water, slowly around the town, calm memories.

Memory is accompanied by loneliness. In the flat tone of looking back, the sound is pleasant to the ear and once lingering. There has always been a corner in my heart, closing the sun and becoming a desert without temperature at all. Dare not touch, more reluctant to think. The loneliness of that piece is separated by two warm hearts. Somehow, the south mountain on the back of the neck and the Sichuan river are hazy in the eyes. Only a vague back is left in the wind and rain.

In the quiet and silent past, the whispers of falling pillows floated away. In the autumn frost in the flowing water and falling flowers, the snow is white with a floating cold. The blood on the palm is flowing with the past wind, fireworks and rain, and the blurred stars are dotted with an unforgettable cinnabar on the heart and eyebrow.

The wind is blowing in the heart and the clothes are clinging. The wooden oars rowed across countless bridge arches, rippling with the red makeup of the first wedding. Long Xiao yunyun, crisp and soft. Untie the gorgeous colored glass and read a bunch of long Chengting clouds. Twist the lines of poetry into thoughts and write them into the past. Pluck the strings of zither and harp, cast your thoughts on the strings, and play that unforgettable part from generation to generation.

A window of moonlight, lonely, muddy, dim. The broken intestines under the window and the broken leaves in the corner of the wall make the courtyard grow sad. The disappearance of love, the ending of oath, waving white clouds and shedding tears. Years ran aground on the double oars, stirring up a sea of bitterness.

Mountain cherry, plantain under the slope. There is always a sentimental meeting at the end of the world, and the fate of Jianlan mountain meets Weiyang. As long as there is love, it never goes far. As long as you love each other, you won't be tired. As long as you have thoughts, it's in your heart. No matter how big the world is, there is always someone waiting for you, waiting for two people to write stories together.

Some people are just passers-by yesterday. Forget is once, break up is no fate. There may be a green leaf in spring, a bright star in summer, an umbrella in autumn, and a warm hug in winter.

Peach blossom is a tree and apricot yellow is a source. Turn around in the world of mortals, writing years. At the Western window of the moon, acacia is on the record. Inkstone is a thick warm sun, and book is a word of affectionate memory. There are peach blossoms everywhere, and there are clouds and waters everywhere. As long as there is a dock, there will be a boat of dowry and a boat of red clothes.

It's the past and unforgettable. It's worth a trip to the world. Sad Flower Moon, the heart reads love sorrow. Have a try. Try plain food. The wild geese take pictures and the wind makes a sound. In the reincarnation of the years, wandering in a trance like tenderness and somniloquy, sighing the helpless four seasons.

After almost a lifetime, I still don't know whether we are peach blossoms or golden osmanthus in the years? Is it starlight or crescent moon in the ring? Who is this life for?