Slowly wandering through the years, drawing each other with ink, and carrying each other with words. The time when the ink and wash are blurred, with the gentle brightness of the gentle and graceful to the fingertips, scatter the flowers of a lifetime, warm and moist an encounter, with a wisp of fragrant fragrance, Shu a paper obsession with the end of the world, the book does not regret the time for an inch, and walks happily in the gap between the words and words. Think of the warm heart, think of the flowers, and treasure it in the place of time.

Embrace the true feelings, taste a page exquisitely, express a book of heart, borrow the agility of the season, rippling between the fingers. Hold a wisp of moonlight with a slender jade finger, and sway all kinds of thoughts.

The past, hidden in the depths of the years, comes from the time, and looks through the waves of a lifetime. The picture scroll of longing and growth is missing, leaving the footprints of Wangchun on the title page of time. The plain notes of the years will be a touch of gentleness and tranquility for freehand. In the small footprints, the passing years bloom in the lingering memory.

The wind envelops the night, and the streamer that crosses the night sky inadvertently enchants life, and the watch in the red dust travels with time in the change of time. The years are warm and bright, and time is accompanied by deep affection. Holding a plain pen, the years have passed, the vicissitudes of time, the ink between the papers, soaked in Fenfei's mood, even if the tip of the pen is thin, the words are exhausted, but also the red dust in the fireworks is dyed with the fragrance of ink.

Open the windows of the years, stationed on the other side of time, spread out your thoughts, twist a finger of thin thoughts, and be silent and happy in time.

In the middle of the night, the light of longing is held up, and the soft heart moistens a feeling, like a soothing moonlight, blurring the night. A touch of brilliance, a lingering heart, the lingering time, the persistent yearning blurs the vicissitudes of life, and the broken chapters of poetry are mottled into faded paintings in the pages of incense.

Come to think of it, if I steal half a day of leisure in this fireworks, or if I can exchange a handful of fat powder money for a clear joy, I am willing to bring a wisp of breeze and a touch of poetry to enjoy a book of poetry in Tang and Song poems.

Looking through the time, who gently stretched the figure of memory, let the thoughts shine in the dew. Leaning alone in the corner of the shadows, let the time pass quietly in the morning mist and twilight rain, when the light summer crossed the fingertips and fell all over the ground to wander, looking back, it was a death.

Time makes some memories deeper and shallower. There are also some pasts that slowly fade out of the fence of memory in the annual rings, not to forget, but not thick enough.

Whether the river of years is tinkling or murmuring, don't feel sorry for yourself, in the years like water, in the time like cutting, adapt to the changes of time, and understand the laws of the years.

The years are flicking your fingers, the heart is flawless, the shallow time, a little warmth. Gently hold a hand of time, hold the hand of time, in the depths of the red dust, I am allowed to carry a plain Jane, and walk lightly.

Plain paper is lightly dyed with ink, and it is recalled shallowly, the scenery of the old times, and the sadness is licked in vain. I want to use poetry to record the plain white years, but my life boils my thoughts, and the lazy breeze can't take away the sorrow. The window is half-hidden, and the cold moon fishing is lonely, after all, it can't stand the scrutiny of the years. Those love alliances and vows, those deep relationships are as shallow as smoke and clouds are dissolved. The evening breeze is blowing, the shadows of the trees are mottled, and the thoughts are shattered, and there is no choice but to feel cold and bitter.

Living in the quiet and beautiful time, I am allowed to take the loose pen and ink as my heart, write lightly, not to mention the vicissitudes of life, only remember the years of verdant, prosperous into a song. With a low chant, with a shallow singing, through every simple daily life.

If pen and ink can reincarnate the loneliness of a lifetime, I would like to indulge in the smoke and rain of the fragrance of ink, read a Tang poem, read a Song song, and calm the wisps of melancholy in the clear rhyme. Relying on the lights of the railing, sighing, reminiscing about the shallow feelings, the memory is still in the old things, the shallow dance is like a dream, and all the complexes on the fingertips are forever buried in the Tang poems and Song lyrics under the pen note......