I am not the tree that can bloom, so I will not ask Buddha to let us meet in five hundred years. I am just a gurgling water that will pass by the blooming tree, but it is waiting for someone, and I am also waiting. It's a pity that the flowing water is intentional, but the falling flowers are ruthless. My tears guarded it while her heart broke for someone else. Sure enough, what was broken on the ground was none other than my heart that stayed with me forever. So it promised to stay here with me, but I found that it would never bloom again. And I have already dried up my tears and can no longer accompany it.