Early spring in the thin snow spit green, you are winding vitality.
Midsummer silver waves reflect the dome, you are amazing burning clouds.
Residual autumn jiao moon mo string, you are intoxicating night wind.
In midwinter the jackdaw is purple, and you are a flickering flame in a hidden corner.
You are the moon in the mirror, heartbroken.
You are the joy of youth.
You are the hot cold sigh after clearing the air with me. Moved the heart for only a sigh.
You are open to the starry night, the window of April. Only the heavy curtain reflected the cold light.
You are the lilac girl holding an oil-paper umbrella in the rain, and you hesitate. Desperately pursue but only to get the faded skirts.
You are not sit at the end of the third line, is the baluster that the scenery, is fleeting reflection.
You are I can not say the export of the sorry, is the parting of the trembling palm, is burned into embers memories.
You are waiting for me in the wind.
初春里薄雪吐了绿，你是蜿蜒的生机。
仲夏里银波映了穹，你是惊艳的烧云。
残秋里皎月默了弦，你是惹人醉的晚风。
隆冬里寒鸦噤了声，你是隐秘角落里跳动着的火光。
你是镜花水中月，断肠曲中人。
你是年少的欢喜。
你是向我澄清误会后烫的发冷的叹息。动了心换的也只是唏嘘。
你是开向静夜星空，人间四月天的窗。拨开了也只有重帘映着冷光。
你是雨巷里撑着油纸伞的丁香姑娘，幽怨又彷徨。拼命追寻却只见得到那褪色的裙裳。
你是坐不到尽头的三号线，是栏杆那头的风景，是稍纵即逝的倒影。
你是我再也说不出口的对不起，是离别时发颤的掌心，是烧成余烬的回忆。
你在风里等我的你。
