Listen to the silk whispers in the summer garden, and look for the charm of the years. For a moment, green leaves and red flowers, the breeze covers your face, and we meet in one place. The bitter cicada knows the taste of summer, and the fishing river reflects the evening scenery. Look at the green mountains and rivers, the long clouds and the picturesque willow smoke. Deep in Zhuanting Forest, there are ruins of ancient stone monuments and small waterside pavilions. Sighing that God is seeking good fortune, he marks out the eternal scenery, the beauty of the years, and the moisturizing of things and feelings.
Riding on a sleeve of breeze, the clouds are moving in all directions, watching the flowing time, dense with whispers, covering up the passing years. The crimson sunset lingers with tenderness and endless reverie, and the leaves covered with golden light seep through the setting sun to fill the long loneliness.
Looking at the flapping wings of the giant dragon in the distance, the vastness spreads across the sky. The feelings at this moment seem to make the dust and smoke of the world far away and fade away.
The old things are gone, but the grass is still green when we come to gather and scatter. It is said that gathering and separation are determined by fate, and separation is unintentional. If the meeting at the crossroads of life is like the meeting of two drifting clouds, as long as we are good at grasping it, there will be intersection, and as long as we cherish it, there will be continuation. But why, after trying so hard, it still ends like a pass. So, when a gentle gust of wind blows, it turns into rain, leaving wet marks and dripping on their respective trajectories.
The wind blew through my hair, leaving the landscape speechless for a moment. Looking at the flowing clouds in the clear sky, twisting the fragmented years, sighing that the past is like smoke and the world is like clouds. If the dusk mist no longer quietly covers the fireworks of the world, then will my loneliness not be enveloped in darkness like the darkness of night? How much sadness is surging like a tide, how much melancholy is lingering, how lonely the heart is, the melodious singing...
The years are passing by, and the sound of water in the pavilion is cold at dusk. As the years come to an end, whose face is remembered and whose nostalgia is cherished. The sound of the wind is alone, and the solitary sleeve is fluttering. Just like yesterday in the third spring, the farewell red leaves left a dark fragrance all over the ground, and a pool of broken shadows fell, making it hard to express my sadness and heartbreak.
Suddenly I remembered that the past was in my heart, and three hundred poems could not be exhausted, and the sorrow of separation was as mellow as wine. You are in the wind, and I am in the rain, walking gently through the passing years. Unable to face it, those who came close walked away again. Those fragments passed through time, lingered in the ears, bloomed in the lonely heart, and ended with a low and weak sigh.
Catch a wisp of clouds, an inch of thoughts, and let them fly into the sky. Counting the palm prints of the fleeting time, the fallen flowers dancing on the hands are colorful. Who said that no longer seeing each other does not necessarily mean separation, and no longer contacting does not necessarily mean forgetting.
Nowadays, I feel so sad that it is difficult to comfort my feelings, and my heart is still lingering like a flowing cloud. Perhaps, after experiencing it, you will understand that longing is the most beautiful emotion in the world, but when you really meet, this feeling will be dull. And all that remains between us is the thin thread of memory, which is held tightly and cannot go far or in.
Sitting in midsummer, I miss the irresistible kapok, penetrate the forbearing purple pansy, listen to the song of mourning, compose the looming sadness, joy and impermanence in time, and outline the beautiful flower-like scenery. Loneliness is like smoke. I am used to quietly listening to music and using words to shape a person, a fleeting time that is far away.
Looking at the past events gradually pieced together into a picture of happiness under the lonely notes, my heart actually hurts, because I deeply understand that the years have never ended satisfactorily for me. Perhaps, only sincere things are easily sentimental. If we can really stay away from pain, then life will lose its authenticity. Even if there is loneliness like wind and sand, in the end, there will only be two lines of tears and a long sigh.
The world’s left dreams, gathering and dispersing unpredictable, the tip of the pen flowing, and the shadows floating in the dark. No matter how sonorous the rhyme is, no matter how far the journey is, those past have become memories, and those past can no longer be returned. Every drop of time can easily stir up ripples in the heart and shake off the old heart sounds. I lamented that the mountains and rivers were picturesque, the blue sky was full of stormy clouds, and there was so much happiness and smiles in the sky.
The texture of memories is like the lingering wind, which disturbs the stars, sun and moon, but it cannot dissipate the appearance of the past. Only a few words in cold ink are left, fragrant with the fragrance of loneliness. Imagine that those years have never faded, imagine that the affection has never been far away, imagine that the beauty still continues, just like we are still flying in that passionate youth.
In the past, the fleeting years were full of beautiful scenery, but now the heart is plain and the ink is even and mournful. Close your eyes and let your thoughts fade away. Nalan under the setting sun and the sadness behind the ancient scrolls are all forgotten at this moment. Hold your knees and talk to yourself, just remember like this, sing a melodious song, in the wind...
The flowing clouds accompany me to cut brocade sentences, and I can hear the bagpipe in the still water.
Stand quietly when the setting sun falls, and meet with words for a fleeting drunken moment, in this lonely feeling of midsummer...