NO1. About Love--The Origin of Floating Trail

Finally, the troubles that should come

If it weren't for holding your sobs

Walking thousands of miles with fate

With me, and the guilt of not having an appointment

If the heart is like water, why are there lotus

Why is there any fruit in the heart of this lotus?

This fruit's heart, why does it taste so much

It's time to go after all. I'm going

Leave a long-term burden

I'm like a lotus to the ice

When I received the poem from Mr. L, I was sitting in front of the computer, and a mouse was wandering around aimlessly.

It was a night in the twelfth lunar month, which was particularly cold. On such a night, you can have a cold sobriety. But I can only look at myself soberly and insensitively click and click again. Until I saw Mr. L's poem.

Amazing, just two words.

Mr. L has been learning abroad this year and has written a few good poems. This song is especially beautiful.

Lotus is my favorite plant. The first time I saw it with my own eyes and touched it with my own hands was when I was eight or nine years old. A light pink lotus.

I have always felt that it is not the beauty that can be found in the world. I stared carefully at the dewy petals, gradually dyed red, revealing the fairy-like beauty. That day, I looked at it stupidly all day and sat by and watched it when I had nothing to do. But I almost didn't dare to touch it again, for fear of hurting the ordinary and difficult sacred beauty.

L Jun's poem reminds me of the lotus and the indelible feeling.

I can't imagine that such a clear thing is alone until the earth is frozen. Imagine that there is still such a lotus flower in the snow and withered lotus ponds all over the sky. What is the purpose of such bitter support?

That's persistence. It's a melancholy that can't be sold anyway.

How can it be desolate?

Yes, in fact, this is an impossible scene in the world. But no one can erase it. This is indeed an image that actually appeared in my mind.

After all, it's time to come. After all, it's time to go.

Between this and that, there are all kinds of entanglements of impermanence in the world.

I read this poem until my heart ached.

If it hadn't been for holding your sobs/stepping thousands of miles with fate/with me, and the guilt of not making an appointment.

This is fate. Mr. L's three simple sentences build a beautiful legend. Empty, vast, beautiful, all kinds of realms come to the face.

Mr. L always says: Far away, I must have been a monk in my previous life; and you, you are a nobleman, a natural nobleman.

Yes, I don't know. I only remember that when you first met, you looked detached from outside things. That's a clear and noble. Since then, I have tried to describe it many times, but I can't describe it after all.

Only my eyes are a natural camera, which captures the meeting that day.

If you want to go carefully, it is on the path of the campus. There are still trees and billboards, which is a day. The images in my mind, except for you, are all the same darkness. I remember your innocent and noble face, dark blue clothes, and a lonely and distant look.

Mr. L, you are a real nobleman.

The night is so cold. Thoughts are like flowing water, endless. While I was immersed, Mr. L sent another text message.

Far away, I just calculated on the Internet that I was really a monk in my previous life, and you are really a nobleman.

Oh, right, monks and nobles. So what kind of bond you and I were in the previous life.

I held my mobile phone, smiled alone for a long time, and finally sent a message.

Mr. L, I'll write a story about nobles and monks, okay?

This poem is so sad. I don't know if my story will be so sad. I only hope that I can write the feelings that come from this poem in my heart.

Mr. L, if you like it, take it as a gift from me. In return, I would like to thank you for meeting you and me in this life.