Essence [Emotional Literature Zone] A thought of longing, gently wrapped around the fingertips

The first is better not to meet each other, so that we can no longer fall in love,
The second is best not to know each other, so that we can no longer miss each other.
The third is best not to want to be with you, so that you don't owe each other.
The fourth is best not to want to cherish, so that you don't have to remember each other.
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Out the window, the night is deep, the wind is rolling the curtains, and the rain is gurgling. The rain has stopped, and the spring scenery cannot be concealed. I lay down for a few days, lightly painted, and gracefully softened the lingering sadness in the Song Dynasty poems. I lit a red candle, wandered around the direction of my thoughts, and arranged them one by one, but I couldn't spell out the lovesickness left in the Qin Dynasty and the Han Dynasty. It caused a fleeting life and was intoxicated with thousands of years of love.
The fingers are like orchid, caressing the clear Xiao, leaning on a piece of water in a meadow, thinking alone, waiting for a sky-blue encounter, just like meeting for the first time, that day, like clouds, like fog, like smoke, the city is lightly cold, moistening all my waiting.
At the Peach Blossom Ferry in April, an orchid boat came along with the trend. That you, with a green shirt and feathers, a calm face, gently opened the affectionate contract written on the Sansheng Stone, and came lightly among the water and clouds. What a first meeting this is!
Even the wind seems to have stopped, only the clouds have passed away, leaving behind a pole of sunset and countless chaotic mountains. As gentle as jade, the thoughts are beginning to bloom, the smiles greet each other, the shame is deep, and the deep meaning is difficult to express. A song of high mountains and flowing water contrasts with each other. I miss the most, the fallen tung flowers at night. It also looks like this.
Timid and shy, coquettish and soft-spoken, can you be as lovesick as I am?
A ray of longing, separated by mountains and rivers, but hard to break. Knocking your fingers lightly, holding it in your arms, speechless, only true feelings. Time flies by, lingering in the eternal love in that fluttering April. Before the song ends, the river is lonely and the flowers fall. Looking across the clouds, there is only a slight farewell.
A good man's ambitions are everywhere! Where the tears are shed in the misty rain, I don't ask when the man will return. I just hate that spring is gone and I don't expect it from others. The water is melting, the moon is light, it is difficult to express my thoughts, I am speechless when I miss you, but I am wasting my tears, and I am saddened by the curtain, who can I complain to?
A piece of plain paper, with light ink and green ink, every word is difficult to understand.
Ask the bright moon shyly, we are deeply in love, only for you, who knows? Tears fell. Hanging from the wrist, where I write, there is a mountain of indigo, expressing many feelings, and a river of water, writing a sentence of constant longing.
One thought of longing, gently wrapped around the fingertips, the deep gaze in the world of mortals that is difficult to understand with three thousand black hairs, the crescent moon in the west wing, the hissing sound of the zither, the ray of sadness passing through the clouds, a lifetime of lovesickness, hard to put away, hard to put away...
Wipe away tears, dance, let the tenderness in my belly flow with the wind, until the end of the world with you.
I only hope that when the wind blows, you will see that miserable woman who dances all the willow poplars for you and sings the love of the moon, and has a lifetime of deep love for you.
The leaves of the well tree are falling, and the swallows are singing. In the lonely courtyard, there are no yellow flowers, only the wind is knocking against the curtains, and the waves are rouge.
Who is it? The green shirt is fluttering, the steps are hurried, and I am affectionate in my faint dream. A flower-like longing blooms in the dense March in the south of the Yangtze River, intoxicated by the charm of the romance passed down by generations of the prosperous Tang Dynasty?
Who is it? Singing and dancing, red candles and incense are lingering in my poems and notes. A dreamlike lovesickness shuttles through the paths with flying butterflies and blooming flowers. How many of the sadness left behind in the setting sun on the ancient road outside the great desert have been lamented?
You are at the end of the world, and my heart will never be able to be sent to you. Expectation, staring, laziness in dressing up, a wisp of sadness staining the brow, who can take pity on it?
I am losing weight for you! The tired mind is powerless to control, and the slipping beauty can only be buried deep in poems and notes, becoming a tomb.
The heart that misses you can only wander back and forth in the windy night.
While watching, let the wind of time slowly roll over the joys and sorrows of the mortal world, the alleys in the dream are cold, let the three thousand green silk hairs imprison the passage of longing, and the haggard love that whispers in the heart, from now on, from now on, I have added worries, it is difficult to break! Hard to break!
Inadvertently, Hua Shang was speechless and the dusk fell. I raise my eyes and look into the distance, to the end of the world, and to the longing that always hurts me. The sadness that cannot be erased is still in my heart.
Bringing the fragrance of ink, leaning against the west building, drunken eyes, drinking the rhyme of Tang poetry and Song Dynasty, whispering three thousand inches of love, in a place where the sky is long and the water is wide, if you raise your eyes, you can always see the indifferent and beautiful woman leaning against the window, with a haggard face, and the coldness in the water. Standing alone.
It's you who made me lose weight, sighing about the passing years, drunken lovesickness, and my face has faded. Who can tell me about that half of my state of mind? What's more, how cold is it to my heart in this twilight rain?