As long as my hair reaches my waist, marry me

Chapter 4 Poetry and Wine Years (2)
At that time, we chatted, talked about the son's love affair and the lovesickness hidden in our hearts.At that time, we were always so happy and so unrestrained.That day, in Xiaoqian's tea house, I sang the song you sang to me again, and for a moment, my tears couldn't help falling down again.As time goes by and the world turns, it turns out that our affection is still like this.

And you are the beauty and warmth in my life, making me so irreplaceable and irreplaceable.

Huayan, human face.Sing slowly, sing lightly.I know that this picture scroll contains not only your simplicity and kindness, but also your style and gentleness.Carefully rubbing the picture scroll in my hand, it seems that the impressions of the flourishing age of the ancient Loulan country are constantly overlapping, as if those distant times have returned lightly and returned to us.The camel bell in the desert, the ancient city of Loulan.In the winding crenels of the ancient city, whose smile is that, like a flower on a branch, just about to bloom, the crisp jingle makes me sleepless every night.

I remember meeting you.In the season of sweet osmanthus fragrance, we met, and the eyebrows and eyes that we met for the first time were full and graceful.In an instant, they were introduced to each other as confidants, and they have known and cherished each other since then, and they are inseparable.Looking at many photos now, you look back sweetly, between your lips and brows, there are traces of gentleness and intellectuality flowing everywhere.

There is also a photo of you and your other sisters - you were in full bloom at that time, your eyebrows were slender, your eyes were peach blossoms, and you had an indescribable tranquility.Although you keep your mouth shut in some photos, your smile can't hide your elegant aristocratic blood and temperament.Your eyes are really pretty, your brows are clear and light, with flowing light, without the slightest trace of makeup.Let me have many times, secretly imitating and reminiscing.

Time flies, and the past is vague.Whose frown and light smile is shallow, like the ink painting left in the depths of my memory, which keeps showing off every evening.In the afternoon of spring, in the fragrance of coffee, I read all your tenderness and memories, just like reading the twin flowers of the years.Close your eyes, it seems that those old days that have an affair with us are constantly returning.The sky full of flowers is beautiful, and it is also endless happiness and warmth.

My dear, I know that although the time is good, it is still not as slender as your eyebrows and eyes.I would like to use this as a mirror to see the beauty of our first days, and I would like to use this to keep the best time and warm all our memories and nostalgia.

眷念
love

immortal
in the world

still see
Jinghong returns to Xueman

Que Dao Zhaoyang Feiyan
Amorous glances and beautiful eyes

Yuhuan trembles, thousands of people vie for envy
Occasionally revealing a beautiful face on the swing

Once you look at it, you will never forget it until you know it is the front edge

Two hearts are like a mandarin duck string together

At three o'clock, the lights on the west window are cut again
Lishan language is half past midnight

spring to spring
flowers fall like last year

tears wet red paper
toss and turn at night

insomnia
Read

Read

Toss and turn
sleepless night

dream home
Memories of Ome's first meeting

Amidst the Rain and Dangerous Buildings in the South of the Yangtze River
The west wind can't scatter eyebrows

Love at first sight Huixin Zhilan
The two love each other and the heart word incense burns

Sanshengshipanyuan system wood and stone front
Playing the pipa, playing the jade flute, and singing together

Candle shadow shakes red Yan language whispers
The bright moon shines in the west chamber

Will live up to this life wish
Smile and carry the world of mortals

fairy companion
thousands of years

constant
love

The beautiful girl in the moonlight
Double butterfly embroidered skirt, Dongchi banquet, first meeting.The vermilion powder is not deep and even, and the idle flowers are light and springy.

It's good to look at everything carefully, everyone is humane, willow waist.Yesterday was chaotic and the mountains were dark. When I came, my clothes were covered with clouds.

——Song Zhang Xian "Drunken Whip"

Whenever night falls, I often linger beside the clear stream shaded by pear blossoms, letting the pale moonlight fill my clothes.

Everything under the moonlight, like a castle in a fairy tale, is melancholy and sad.

When the wind blows past my ears, I can always hear those distant horseshoes walking all the way from the castle deep in the desert, those curtains raised by the wind and the shouts of the grooms are as white as pear blossoms.At this time, there are always some dormant thoughts, along with the horseshoes that are gradually becoming silent, and the white stream under the moonlight, flowing into the distance together.

In the distance where the stream runs all the way, there is a shallow strait. On the other side of the strait, there is a place where peach blossoms are in full bloom. They say that is heaven.

There is a beautiful girl in heaven, she has a pair of eyes that can talk, and there is always melancholy in her eyes like pear blossoms.Whenever the moon rises, she will keep singing to the moon. There is a magical power hidden in her eyes, and there is a kind of ripple called autumn wave.It is said that every man who hears her sing will miss or be heartbroken.

She sings every night, with sadness in her voice.Some say she sings of her lover, others say she leads the nocturnal fleet.The moonlight sprinkled on her body, and her singing sounded far away.

Is it the March when the flowers are red and the willows are green, or is it the time when the plum blossoms were boiled with a sword?He rode his horse through the rainy alleys in the south of the Yangtze River in a flat boat and dressed in white.She moved her lotus steps lightly to the Hengtang where he passed by, and he lingered the sound of his flute in the west chamber where she stood.Did her oil-paper umbrella catch his past, or did his jade flute wrinkle her sadness?

Is it a hallucination, or a dream?The past under the moonlight is as white and clear as her skin.People can't tell which is the previous life and which is the next life.Those flowers walking on the paper, bowed their eyebrows and covered their sleeves under the moonlight, and there was nowhere to hide their unconcealed thoughts. Her singing was so panicked that it flew westward all the way.

I have never been to heaven, nor have I seen that beautiful girl, but there is a kind of nostalgia growing in my mind.Whenever the bright moon rises, there will be something cold walking in the eye sockets.It seems that those pear blossoms are constantly returning and going away.Keep returning, and keep walking away.

The brilliance of the moon wanders behind the pear blossoms.When I stretched out my arms, there was an undercurrent like water rushing towards me.I seem to see that beautiful girl singing where the tide rises, and I hear sadness in her dancing long sleeves.Her thoughts hidden behind the strings were finally wet by the sea tide just like the moon.

The night is getting thicker and thicker, and the moonlight casts a coolness in the middle of the night.Is it tired? It has traveled season after season, from spring to autumn, from meeting to missing.It wants to see off the person who plays the flute, it wants to put away his flute one by one, crush it into the falling pear blossoms, use the fragrance of the flowers as a keel, turn into an orchid boat, and go to ferry the world of mortals, just like meeting that pear blossom someone's girl.

Moonlight climbed onto my clothes, and pear blossoms fell leisurely.Falling by the side of the clear stream, falling in the singing, falling at the end of the poem, everything will quietly add color.

In the color of the moon, a flower bud called lovesickness is quietly blooming.

I was lost in the moonlight.I don't know, which one has more flowers and thoughts tonight?Which one is closer?
Taste in the world is joyful

The drizzle and the slanting wind are Xiaohan, and the light smoke is sparse and the Liu Meiqing beach.Into Huai Qing Luo gradually long.

Snow foam, milky flowers float in the afternoon, and Polygonum antler and Artemisia bamboo shoots try the spring plate.The taste in the world is Qinghuan.

——Song·Su Dongpo "Huanxi Sand·Drizzle Slanting Wind Makes Minor Cold"

Once, I was Qinglian under the Buddha's seat; and you are the rosary in the Buddha's hand.We meet every day, but we will never meet again.Perhaps it was because all the Buddhas began to sleep lightly in the cigarette smoke, so that you and I had a once-in-a-lifetime encounter.

At that moment of looking at each other, there are all kinds of familiarity in my heart, and there are thousands of attachments flowing in my eyes.After hundreds of turns and turns, you and I finally stared, looked back, reluctantly, and even looked at each other.So many thoughts between the eyes and brows, at that moment, all turned into reluctance and lingering in black and white.

How much reluctance from previous lives has become unforgettable at this moment.The affectionate embrace between you and me at this time, as well as the trivial tenderness falling on the paper, are all so real and warm.

Love, I don't say deep-rooted, I don't say unforgettable, the steadfastness and perseverance of those loves have long been engraved on the banks of the Three Lives Stones in the previous life.But in this life, I miss you and miss you.As long as I stare at you intently, that gentle and clear smile will overflow my lips from time to time, the joy of the grass growing in the pond, and the joyful face of the wormwood bamboo shoots trying the spring dish will surge at this moment And to.Happiness breaks through the embankment of the heart, how can it be contained.

My dear, if I call you softly, will you be able to go back to your hometown again.Light smoke and sparse willows hang down into the long sky outside the clear beach, and the white walls support the endless black tiles. In the dangerous building where I swayed on the swing, are you still waiting with the old-fashioned look to warm my life? look into the distance?The swing inside the wall, the road outside the wall, the green willow hanging down a thousand silk ribbons, who is using the steadfastness and delicacy that is as gentle as jade thousands of years ago to caress the vicissitudes and melancholy of my lapel?Who is using the pearls and splendors that I have experienced thousands of years ago to illuminate my sleepless hesitation and sadness?

In my endless thoughts, you are following the sound, your white robes are flying with the wind, and your blue eyes have turned into autumn waters.In your blue waves, I saw countless attachments and lingerings just testing the waters, some butterflies dancing lightly.

One day thousands of years ago, in this green, fat, red and thin Jiangnan, the alleys meandered into the three worlds of flowers and trees.In Fengyan Jindu, it seems that you are wearing white clothes, a long sword, and a jade flute, riding your horse down from my window. That white clothes are flying in the wind and dust, and that long sword Breaking through the Tang wind, the jade flute blows away the Song rhyme, dancing lightly in my rivers and lakes in Tang and Song Dynasties.

At that time, you had eyes as clear as water and green eyebrows that grew into your temples.You appeared in front of me with a sleeve of breeze and tenderness in your eyes. It was a cloud-like tenderness, blooming in my eyes; it was a dazzling encounter, and even the wind became transparent and clear. Lightness.There are flowers falling from the sky one after another, and there are beautiful trees luxuriantly green.Butterflies are flying among the flowers, white clouds are passing by in the sky, and there is a faint aroma of wine slipping down the stomach and intestines.It seems like the wind and moon in the Tang and Song Dynasties, the fragrance and softness in the south of the Yangtze River, and the past of river boats playing flute and rain. At this moment, it turned into light yellow, written into moon white, thin into wind and clear, and condensed into a cinnabar between my eyebrows red.

In those days, I was used to interlocking fingers with you, holding hands, and walking in April in the south of the Yangtze River.In the morning and evening smoke, you can walk quietly through the alleys in front of the door and the houses with the gurgling water, fish are playing among the lotus leaves, and the boatman's oars are singing one after another.In the rainy alley paved with bluestone slabs, look for the lilac-like girl under the oil-paper umbrella.In the surprised eyes of others, I want to hold your hand, approach the red-painted wooden door, and carefully explore the red couplet, the new window grilles, the table of September [-] wine behind the wooden door and the window sill. That golden chrysanthemum.Looking out from the carved window sill, there is a path of shallow grass. The bunch of pink-faced peach blossoms placed at will are enchanting in the celadon outside the corridor fence. It is the leisure and elegance carved by Zhenshui people in time. .

Walking through a few alleys, through a few alleys, deep in the path hidden by the bamboo forest, that is our residence.A few rafters with blue tiles, two or three porch windows, and a row of bamboo fences are simple yet elegant.

Open the bamboo door casually, and the room is full of soft and warm plots.The peach blossom picked in the morning was inserted obliquely under the bamboo fence, the sachet you gave me lay quietly in the basket, the wind blew the jade flute under the eaves, its sound was long and clear.Gently cat into your arms, that is my widest and softest harbor.It is also the gentle hometown that I have been attached to all my life, and it is a paradise that I will never forget to return to.

In the morning, the wind blows slowly, with a soft breath.You tread the dew, the paths and the waterways.And I sat alone in the wind in front of the eaves, watching the river flowing quietly around me, and the green straw hats and green coir raincoats in the distance turning into ink stains in the mist.At that time, the wind gently lifted my bangs, and butterflies fluttered about.Occasionally there is a distant cock crow.

The sundial slanted across the west chamber, and the moonlight covered Langfang.You return with a moonlight lotus all over your body.I greet you with a smile, and gently wipe off the sweat from your forehead with the fragrant silk handkerchief.The sake that has already been warmed is placed on the pavilion outside the water pavilion, a few dishes of side dishes, and a bowl of light rice, that is our sumptuous dinner.

The moonlight overflows the pond filled with reeds and reeds. In the movement of frogs and cicadas, it is an incomparable happiness of bells and dingshi.There are only Banpolan, Banpoju, and a piece of warm time.I snuggle gently beside you, slowly looking for you.Looking for you, the softest time.

The wind shuttles from the water of Jianjia to the screen window under the bamboo fence, and then returns to the porch to circle, and the faint fragrance of full sleeves slowly diffuses.Time flows quietly between the moon and the white wind, like the movement and rhythm of our acquaintance.Our first time was a beautiful movement like poetry; now counting the faces of the days, it is a meaningful picture scroll like prose, smart and leisurely, as calm and warm as years.

In those days, we also learned from Shuangyan, whispering softly.A smile blooms at the corner of my mouth and spreads at the tip of your brow.My dear, those ordinary days and nights in the world are still so fast, fleeting, and become yesterday in a blink of an eye.Flowing light turns into sand, sea dries up and rocks turn, I haven't seen enough of the love in your eyes, and haven't bloomed into the brilliance I want in your eyes, but we have grown old in that series of tenderness.

Always firmly believe that even if we get old, we will still hold each other's hands and pass on the same warmth as before.On a night with a white moon and clear wind, I will still remember those gazes at the beginning.look back.Those soul-stirring, mesmerizing preparations and attachments - that is the lingering and nine-turn poem that we have written in our whole life.

(End of this chapter)