Chapter 22 tactic

When will your pomegranate skirt be fanned like a peacock On the fragrant grass, unscrew the gorgeous Let me embroider the afternoon dream on your skirt, pillow pattern, pillow on lover's slack (Which year was that, which year's flower season?) Under the parasol, the beauty of the umbrella holder makes me hesitate The soft eyelashes flicker, how many favors fall How many favors, on the brow I look up to Then should I chant Sharan's Shang Lai, or Or Xiao Du's quatrains? (Which year was that, which year's flower season Which meadow in spring am I lying on my back? )

Just the rain in your hair, my hair, right now You're holding an umbrella, I'm wearing a raincoat Your hand, He Bingbing, is hidden in my bag Next year's Valentine's Day, will it rain, next year? Who knows?who knows Did it rain on Valentine's Day last year? Who remembers who cried the wettest? Next Valentine's Day, who will be your lover? How to tie it, how to solve it, you say But it is we who are tied, God is tied, and one end Here, the other end lost in eternity Although parting is like a blade, can it be cut off? The thread is very thin, but not too soft

Float away with the typhoon in summer, with the rain in autumn Only the resentment stands tall The grudge is like a mountain, even the thousand-armed Yu Gong can't shake it The world is far away, and the world of mortals disturbs Bi falls above both, impassively sublime Grab a handful of ashes, every pinch of ashes contains my despair There is your back in every tear When the fog rises, you step into the boundless, and I step into the boundless Acacia is as slender as light years.look back Looking back, it’s the dry sea, it’s fossils, it’s stains from crossing ditches The end of every love is parting

Every parting begins with a meeting Clouds only open for one sunny day, and rainbows only for one evening Lotus is only red for a summer, for you When summer dies, all the lotuses die in love Xia is dying, Zhen Zhen, this is the last time A rain shower that beats pathos on your umbrella Which window, tomorrow morning, which window What windy window are you at, with small and cold hands Comb so long so long black sorrow.