Who moved the strings of the blossoms

You know what.

　　In a previous life I was a fleeting flower. The momentary life to perceive the ebullience of the wind. I opened the fragrance of a lover's eyes and absorbed your warm, melancholy gaze. You pity the pity of a flower that is easy to pass away, so that I in this life to step through the sea of persistence, to find the figure of your fantasy dream.

　　My deep melancholy is the root of the disease you left behind. At times, I am still and helpless, I don't know where is your hiding place and where is my corner in the barren human world under the canopy. I don't know if the warm eyes will meet me again, and if they will smell the sound of my zither. If you don't know me anymore, how will I explain and follow you after your long and strange back?

　　The blue water is frightened in autumn, the yellow clouds are titled in twilight, and the Xiang Yun and Chu Yue are early to understand the deep meaning. The original blossom is the love flower, she all the spiritual wisdom, the most should not give birth to mortal love. The actual fact is that you can find a lot of people who are not able to get a good deal on a lot of things. A time apart encounter, open the shyness and love of this shore and the other side of that Hongdu water.

　　The actual fact is that the actual person is not a person, but a person who is not a person. It is not your heart that is far away, nor is it my heart that is turning its back on me, but the jasper ocarina of my grandfather's night blew through the ancient sadness of the grass and willow branches and murmured lightly. It is said that you are a demon who is infatuated with love, and I am a blossom that will not bloom again, playing a song of separation that is difficult to break in this world. The first thing you need to do is to get a good idea of what you are getting into.

　　Who is singing nightly in the low whistling wind? The company's main business is to provide a wide range of products and services to its customers. The white sunlight sprinkled the village with love, making it white again. The grandmothers sat in the shade of the windy mountain pass with smiling wrinkles listening to the cicadas fluttering thin Ji, bushes, this newly woven bushes palm fragrance dyed red summer, rising and falling into a deft dance, lifting the flow of July fire, bamboo shade began to sing some heavenly songs, oblique floating down bamboo leaves lightly kissed my naked little feet, floating down between me and the red dragonflies I chased.

　　At this moment, I miss a song that I didn't get to sing. When the hillside was full of red flowers, I was the only one beside you. I decided that you were alone. In the silence of the human world, loneliness is quietly roaming in the flower clusters of the forest, roaming. I plucked the flowers in my arms, I sometimes greedily wanted to pick them all, but I held the colors that shed tears under my sharp nails, and they sang softly in my arms, cutting the chords of my thin heart. I looked at the endless recklessness in the distance, the unsupportable emptiness that once again swallowed me alive. The white solitude in the village always sinks into the dead all-nighter, and then rises quietly from the foggy and shaded mountains.

　　The distant smoke cages the blue trees, and the moonlight is even with the mountains. The flowers of the stranger in the ancient world bloom so quietly that they become the hazy first strings in my green silk. The actual fact is that if there is an innate spiritual charm, if you still love the ancient charm of the ten fingers dyed strings, if you are still crazy about the silk refined ice strings, just because of the baptism of your love when the flowers bloomed in the previous life, think about it, the sound of your eyes like a dream splashing shao light flowing away, it is this string and a column of the commercial sound. You and I both know that a pair of invisible wings in my rib cage slowly grow into. Perhaps you will always be outside the door of my heart, I will always be in your line of sight.

　　When dad's bamboo flute blossomed awkwardly in the loess, I followed the notes that were scattered all the way out of the pass slowly. The master smiled in the shade of the bamboo long sleep, the last wisp of time, the clear jasper ocarina by his dry fingers trembling hanging to my neck. Sometimes, I ache deeply, I want to build an eternal window for that moment in the red dust, just to turn around and touch a pair of warm and compassionate eyes. I have a long hovering wing in my little rib cage, leaving my father's intermittent flute under the neem trees that are getting farther and farther away. The village and the flowers, the bamboo forest, the dead cicadas, the grannies shaking their fans, and the loneliness that has been stinging for a long time, are all like sheep grazing in the clouds in the sky.

　　I have come to realize that I do not need to measure the distance between you and me, but you, however, have aged my heart, because I have gone far away on credit. I know, I know that the end is your silent waiting for the return of tears, you will eventually grow old in the lonely world of people into a dappled dream when I was a child, and I ah, not my heart in deviation. You know that the first sound of your ocarina accomplishes the song of departure that urges me to go far away. In this life, I am married to the guzheng, married to the wandering, and sleep with the melancholy.

　　How warm are the ice strings in my dream? The tears of the moon fall down in front of my window, and the past that has passed away is closed in the homeland of the gurgling blue stream and the warm green arbor. I speak with my fingertips, the sound of the pearl falling from the jade plate, the sound of the long wind whimpering, the sound of the silk muse, only you can listen to the weeping.

　　The first thing you need to do is to get a good idea of what you are getting into. The most sober is when the moon is in the sky. I often touch the soul of this hereditary sound through, and trace the origin of no deeper meaning. I put on my robe and sat down with my zither. The "Yun Shui Yi" is a piece that I learned for the first time. If paired with my father's ancient bamboo flute, smart, you tell me, the blue sky above the colorful clouds under those grazing sheep, and will run the wolf smoke rolled.