“落花人独立,微雨燕双飞”。 穿梭般剪破淡淡雨幕的燕子是无忧的。 那么,肩头披着几瓣落红的人呢? 也许,这位孤独的人正在低头凝思。沙沙的雨声与几乎清晰可闻的花瓣飘落的声音鲜明地装饰着朦胧而绵远的梦境,莫名的伤感与无奈萦绕在心头。 “Falling people independent, micro-Swift flying.” Shuttle-like swallows that cut the light rain curtain are carefree. So, how many people fall on the shoulders? Maybe, this lonely person is bowing meditation. The sound of rustling sandals and the sound of falling petals, which can be heard almost clearly, are vividly decorated with dim and distant dreams, inexplicable sadness and frustration lingering in my heart.