You didn't mean to go through the wind, but you were alone to lead the mountain torrents.
At that time, you and I, even though the mountains and rivers, also want to look at each other.
Turn out the light with me, and read with me for half a lifetime. Ask me if my porridge is warm, and stand with me at dusk.
If I'm white haired, face twilight, will you, still so, hold my hands, pour the world gently.
In the dream, the flowers fall, this feeling is not central, this meaning is unforgettable, although the string is broken, the song is still floating.
The mountains are high, but they don't know the southeast and the north. The left is also the west, and the right is also the West.
Desolate scenery, you have the most beautiful shadow, Fenghua refers to quicksand, a period of old age.
The breeze is moist and the tea smoke is light. The old dream is gone.
The wind swept over the treetops, breaking petals on the ground, becoming a remnant of the season.
Ten years of gentle, ten years of painting and calligraphy, but because you once married, will be silly.
Choose a corner of comfort, shop a table clean, warm up a tea, simple heart, wind, rain, can also be warm.
Maybe it's not until I sacrifice my loneliness that I dare to remember your last face.