The sky is green in the hibiscus window, the sunset is brocaded, the sound of the crickets is light and shallow, and the painting hall is slow in spring.
I'm too lazy to count the falling flowers, and I'm too lazy to knock the chess pieces. With a small fan and single clothes, people are like green onions.
Whose game is the world of mortals, and whose sigh is the secular world?
God taught me to meet you in the best years, but it only taught me to distinguish between twists and turns and reality. This green wound has healed before I get older. I just dreamed about you at midnight, why did I see you in white clothes like snow, with eyebrows like knives?
Where is the dream, who is the outer body?
Is this encounter going to be fireworks in a prosperous age, or will it be a downfall in the storm?
To me, how much is a calamity and how much is fate?
There are always some feelings that will suddenly travel thousands of miles away, leaving people unable to find their way back.
So, when darkness falls, please remember to hold my hand and wait together for the brilliance of the red sun breaking through the sky.
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PS: This article is slow to get started, please be patient when entering the pit, bow, thank you.