His old face has already penetrated into the bone marrow. Looking at him at peace, it seems that if life is just like the first time we met, it turns out that this is fate. The relatives on the other side that I have been waiting for are so pleasant. I think of Xi Murong's poems, and such quintessential words seem to sink into my heart:
how to make you meet me
For this in my most beautiful moment
I have prayed before the Buddha for five hundred years
Pray to the Buddha to let us have a mortal relationship
Buddha then turned me into a tree
Grows beside the road you must pass
Flowers bloom in full bloom under the sun
Duoduo is what I longed for in my previous life
When you come closer please listen
The trembling leaves are my passion for waiting
And when you finally walked by without a care
It fell to the ground behind you
My friend, those are not petals.
It's my withered heart