Butterflies fall into dreams, wandering among the misty peonies. The years are quiet and peaceful, and half a day of floating life only lasts a moment. There is no wind, but I remain motionless. If the wind blows, it is neither the wind nor the human being, but the heart.
The wind blew up in an instant, but in a blink of an eye, it followed the smoke like mist, and disappeared in half a day. The moon was high in the sky, the stars were sparse and the moon was bright, and only then could we catch a glimpse of the people behind the peonies. The five fingers and seven strings rise slowly, and the green fingers make the moon look like a hook.
It is so quiet, the wind does not move, the cicadas do not speak, the people do not move, and the flowers smell fragrant.
This is the scene when you open your eyes, and it is the same when you close your eyes.
That's why I can't tell whether it's a butterfly in a dream or a butterfly in a dream.
It's a pity that although the moon is in the middle of the sky, the jackdaws are rising, startling the dreams of yellow beams.
In my heart, there is a slow heartache, like a stream flowing through a rotten wound.
The people in the past have become phantoms after all, and the past has become Zhuang Gong's dream of a butterfly. Maybe it once happened, maybe it didn't. Because it happened before, I can't tell the truth from the false in the dream, but when I wake up from the dream, there is nothing, as if it never happened.
I dreamed about a time when I was fifteen years old. The scene in the dream was so clear and clear that even the voice and smile of the long-dead woman could be seen in every detail. It was as if she and I were both still alive. We were both still fifteen years old. In the spring of that year, peonies were in full bloom.
I once fell in love with a woman. In the spring of the year when I was fifteen years old, in my memory the peonies were in full bloom, the alluring flowers and beauty, the blue sky and the warm and ambiguous spring sun. The woman stood on the wall of the Flower City and smiled. That picture will never fade.
If there is a love in life, then falling in love with the most beautiful person in the most beautiful city is undoubtedly the most beautiful. However, forgetting is a blessing for mortals. Because it is too beautiful to be forgotten, it becomes a tragedy. Cracked and rotten in the heart. Those years are not willing to be abandoned in the end, so they will still survive in your dreams many years later, lingering for a long time, like a ghost that is unwilling to leave. It always loves to take you back to that young and frivolous moment at midnight, entangled in the most beautiful city and the most beautiful people for a long time, unwilling to let go.