The monsoon breeze blows through the heart, mixed with a trace of coolness, the days, like water silently, flipping through the old self, there is an illusion of a world away. Occasionally, the heart path is quietly placed in the depths of the dust and smoke.

Please allow me to use the most affectionate ink fragrance, write poems with warmth, let me pick the idle clouds to make flower notes, sunshine pen, gentle and charming, I am willing to use my hands for the years, add a touch of bright green, paint a touch of enchanting.

On Mo, the flowers bloom for half a summer, cut a quiet time, pass through the long corridor of time, and pick up a wisp of fragrance in the sporadic breeze.

Leaning on a pavilion, smelling the flowers and plants slightly cool, watching the distant mountains stretching, the wind is clear and the clouds are light, and the petals falling are like butterflies and the wind is dancing.

Su Nian, who was placed in the years, smiled lightly according to the context of the years, and took refuge in fireworks and lived lightly......

A paper of time is like a flying arrow, a changeable life, eternal years. Time hurriedly decorates the face of the years, time records the changes of the world, the reincarnation of the world, the long pavilion and the short station, and the noisy carriage and horses of the post house. The ups and downs of life, the dreamy life, the right and wrong of a period of time, the downturn of a life, sometimes hate, sometimes love. Whether it is rubbing shoulders or holding hands, they have been precipitated in the past years.

The streamer of the flower note, the shallowness on the mo, the peaceful years.

The memories of wandering, the red dust of Qianqian, and the fragrance of the scroll.

The memory of the tranquil book, the years have spread out the plain paper, and the strings of broken thoughts jump between the words. Attachment, shallow and plain, the years are happy and prosperous, and the plain heart is written on the brocade. The precipitation of time warms the passing years, stranded memories, and reincarnates the change of seasons. In the distant days, the streamer is shallow, carrying forward the feelings of the years, and the passing years are spreading in the heart.

In the depths of the passing years, the falling flowers are colorful, and the ferry of life is still the same. Stranded time, you can't go back to the left, there is no direction to the right, and the left and right are slim and lonely.

A smoke and rain, a place of sorrow, who is affectionate and sad. A note of silence, the thought has become a death.

Yesterday's Yanran can't bloom today's branches. The tossing and turning time, once again waved goodbye to the scabbed heart. The heart that wants to be wet, stained with clothes, thoughts, and light.

The color of the moment, whose eyes are bright, whose melancholy is carried by the wind, red dust, a little.

Shaohua, who is far away, is frost-dyed and green silk asks the wine to sing. Whoever bears whose thoughts, writes, and dies.

The eyes of tears, the eyes of a note of ink, turned around, hesitant and helpless.

Who is in the window, who is lingering on the other side, whose heart is in the middle of the thoughts, a trace of affection, moving away and withering, picking up a thin thought, and condensing life into a clear moon and warmth.

Time is shallow, and the rain is like a stream. The water is shining, and the fragrance is far away. The love is deep, the rain is misty, and there are many clouds of smoke and rain. You loom among the blue bricks and green tiles rendered in light ink, and I stand in the wind, standing in the ink, waiting for you stupidly.

The wind rises, the curtain moves, setting off a curtain of dreams, and my heart stays in the depths of the smoke waves. I don't know if you have seen the light in my eyes gazing affectionately; I don't know, have you read my melancholy of resentment......

Take a handful of sorrows, twist a melancholy thought, and sort out the past that has been folded by time. Closed thousands of melancholy, staggering in the dusty past.

Life, with me, is casual, without refinement. Light ink, plain pen, a volume of elegant books, Yingyi Huai warm. Happiness and melancholy are all blurred in the rain and spread with the waves. With a calm state of mind will precipitate the years, taste the time leisurely, make a pen with heart, and the dream of the smart pen end is drunk and laughing, and the light ink landscape is written......

The bright sunlight passed through the window, and the gentle wind carried the fragrance of flowers and plants. I like to sit by the window in this quiet time, listen to the branches play the shallow years, and gracefully change the seasons.

Napping in quiet comfort, let my thoughts drift through the window and the sorrow of the branches and branches with the breeze. The warm sunlight weaves a soft light lazily.

For a period of time, because of the softness and fragrance, a journey has passed, because of the fragrance. Tidbits of the passing years, the road of the years, this shore and the other side, remember, is warm.

The fragrance of May, rendering the mood wandering, let the eyebrows unfold, let the mood fly, even if the time goes, you and I are still there, we take refuge in ordinary fireworks, guarding the green lantern moon, out of the dust, into the WTO, the glass state of mind, bright as a lotus......