Silent red dust, longing. Any cold memories, wandering alone in this watery season. Ren that deep-seated acacia, alone in this confused earth, provoked loneliness. Really think, on the shore of the passing years, tenderness is like water. Today, there can only be silence in the ferry of time. You say, if you met me, you would be confused. I said, I'm disturbed by you, and disturbed the dream. Looking at the years, crossing your eyes and my eyes, whether your heart is still moored on my shore, holding the water of a lake of acacia, the boat of the lake, thinking of loneliness and planting in the land of acacia in the years A misty place, fragrant. The coquettish flower in Hongchen is like a dream, like a poem, like a song. The warm incense in the past few years is like an idiot, like drunk, like smoke. As the years go by, the memories are still lush: as time goes on, Hongchen is still beautiful. The book is like a book in the past, carrying the love and the love. The passing years are like flowing water, the line is also in a hurry, and the passing is also in a hurry. But the streamer in the memory is still gorgeous and still moisturizing. Your majestic shore like water, and the backbone like mountains are bound to be my infatuation that is hard to give up in this life. Looking back, I fell into your warm eyes, red dust, drunk into your passionate brows. An unforgettable curtain of smoke and rain, unforgettable old dreams. The fireworks are fleeting, and I look back with a smile, keep a lonely blossom, read the reincarnation of time, and express the fragrance of paper and ink. The corner of time, sitting alone for a while, waiting for the eternity of life. Wait until the trees grow, wait until the autumn is long, wait until Rui Xueyingmen, wait until the land is old. Crossing the red dust, staring silently, looking at the end of the world, looking back through the old days, seeing the flowers falling to the ground, and the autumn leaves falling. My heart is hurting, tears are hurting, a low eyebrow, a bowed head, what is touched is a cold place.
