Behind me has been, indifferent joy

The flickering moonlight, the haze of a land. Stepping on the fine years, wandering the red, mixed with memories of past lives. With a little desolate posture standing in the wandering intersection of the earth, through the quiet night, piece by bit time, abide by the promise of the millennium, wandering the world by Yi Shadow. Let it be the music curl, the song is exciting, in the heart only to dream of the millennium dying in the warmth of the fingertips, let it screen color, staged again more pleasure, heart only read you my scene from the war, let it fleeting mottled, heart only read you I that with the wind whisper Walk the footsteps of the cloud. A string of brocade to play together a beautiful chapter, a world of red twilight but look back lakeshore scattered, a pot of spirits wash the dust of China. Drunken wounds, light hug into the bosom, since the love can not be cut, better hold into the bosom. Let those red dust past into poetry and song Fu. And lingering in the heart of the midnight loneliness accompany, willing to pure Miss plug in the wings over million mountains water.
　　
Past lives, guarding a beautiful emotion, only wish this cavity tenderness, will you like silk such as heart knead into my life. So I turned into a wisp of breeze with you around, spring for you with the fragrance of the Earth, summer for you to blow away hot heat, autumn for you usher in the harvest, winter for you to drive away the cold chilly. Every trace of the breeze is my whole days spent to your thoughts, each of the feelings are I am infatuated with love. See you by the death take away the soul I xinrudaojiao, know you have too much also want, you have too much too much not to do, you have too much too much unsatisfied.
　　
So in the next 500 years I was alone in the silence of the night in front of the Buddha quietly praying, praying to heaven to give you a life of the good. Wait alone, waiting alone, hoping alone. Buddha heard the voice of my Heart, giant summon, and waved my sorrow. He who holds that love, only loves him. The Buddha doubts, why so deep feeling?
　　
The year of the ancient, drunk, the red dust, a dream, a few years. Unconsciously forget his own nature, is he gave me a warm, forever unforgettable, on the moon swear never negative him. But the red mortal doom, I finally did not withstand the clamor of the red, broken faith in him, the pursuit of the hundred years of reincarnation, behind me memories make him a few times retreat timid, after all, is I negative him, just wish him good.
　　
Stranded in the past, poignant and traumatic. Fate and gather, this sentiment, bearing in mind. Memories of the time in the heart ripples, scalding hot tears burned the eyes. Ask Buddha, can you know the sorrow of parting? Do you know how much solitude is colder than frost? Do you know what it feels to be heartbroken? I have experienced it all in the world. The wandering of the Vatican flowers like flying in front of the Buddha, the Buddha to understand the truth of this no regrets; understand the plaintive of the joys and sorrows; understanding pain is also a satisfaction. So Buddha Grace me again into the Midgard ...
　　
The past like smoke, missing is always the innermost memory of the heart, and you pass by, I will be utterly confused. Even though a few lifetimes have gone by, the memories that are sealed in the heart still linger. Only a broken land of mind dyed the red dust of the years.
　　
Quiet Night, moonlight, such as ink, into the text condensation in the sadness, precipitated in memory, diffuse over the heart of the Qiannian, wipe not to that yesterday like the beautiful, remote mail between the text.
　　
Pulling the memory of the hands, a look at the calm Heart lake. Looking back, the fundus of a damp, happy like the wind, will be sad together with the flat.
　　
Write the countless lingering, live in an empty box of the world. Seems, I once again forgotten, swim blade in this lonely world, one day disillusioned yoke. Years of freedom to walk, we can not hold tightly, can't keep, can't see firmly. What is buried in time gives the sun a little light to make it lighter and thinner. Leisurely from the side flies away, no traces. The hope of falling, left everywhere sad Cang, will also be dripping red blood tears soaked a beautiful flower. Years quiet good, my heart is still, indifferent joy.

Behind me has been, indifferent joy