The twilight that slipped down from the eaves, silent, but it sounded my thoughts. The promise that once warmed us, is it looking to the south?The red umbrella that changed the course of the years, is it still in your hand?
In the face of a rainy day, it is as if reading a face, reading the years of love and the moisture in the eyes. All the traces, back to a poignant time, back to a poem that has just begun.
From night to dawn, a letter is non-stop, weaving the moonlight acacia with the stitches of words. The falling flowers helped up the stumbling between the branches, still deeply in love with this endless disappearance.
Peeling off the stars in the sky, the fragrance of the distance hangs in front of you, hanging down a bunch of willow green pink, and the frostbitten words instantly turn green, deeply embedding the roots of love in the soil.
Walking along the riverbank, the promises of the past flashed in front of me again and again, but it was difficult to hold a single word. There are as many stops as there are differences in love, and I don't know if the next stop is waiting for my spring.
It is enough to remember the agreement, whether or not you get the longing love?I don't know how far I have to walk, how high the mountain I have to climb, how many winds and rain I have to go through to reach a woman's smiling face, love has been on the road.