The heart is beating, the love is burning
Selected essays:
The heart is beating, the love is burning
Looking around, the ancient paintings of the ancient niches, mahogany tables and chairs, the table of the small disk, put the red wine and luminous cups. The layout of a style are seemingly ancient and generous, coupled with the low hanging bamboo curtains, the occasional footsteps outside the door, has been insufficient to mess with people's minds. It's Christmas Eve, a western holiday. No, this day let's celebrate together for the home of NetEase - "Hengyuan Literature and Art", tomorrow is your anniversary, let's raise the hands of the wine glass, for your blessing!
The heart is beating, the love is burning. This first glass of wine, I want to toast our circle masters and managers. It's their hard work, tenacity and hard work that gives us this warm and welcoming home. Personality is in recent months the netease restructuring, to the circle of management has caused a great impact, administrators and circle masters in the invisible added a lot of difficulties and pressure. But they did not retreat, work hard, hard to survive. Circle of this day, there are their hard work sweat and unknown heartbreaking tears.
The heart is beating, the love is burning. The second glass of wine, I want to toast to the vast circle of friends. It is you who gave me touched and harvested, we all love our online home so much, the garden in the heart of the construction of pure and beautiful. There is also a credit to you. May the years to these words and feelings precipitated into the most fragrant memory, just because we know each other in the interlocking network, is a piece of emerald like a beautiful collection, in the N years later when looking back, remember that we used to have company. When we are tired, we pull each other a hand, *** with through the rainy days of life, this is not the most perfect?
The heart is still beating, the love continues to burn. The third glass of wine, to our home - "Hengyuan Literary Arts". Hengyuan Literary Arts is a home for the soul, and it is fate that we meet there. Karma, every day to do, is to do a link between the heart and the heart, when I gently click, you give me a warm response, with no cover up the heart, with a crystal-like words, presented in front of my eyes, so that I am restless days, in everyone's off under the soothing to the quiet, which, how a touching ah; when you comment on my words presented in front of my eyes, I know, you have cupped your heart, and I know that you have been a good friend. You have held out your true heart, a recognized, recognized touched overflowed my heart, I listen to you with the most sincere smile, let you in the tolerance of the youth and the feeling of life.
The heart is still beating, the love continues to burn. The fourth glass of wine, let us raise our glasses together, for the perfect home tomorrow cheers! Tomorrow, our home will be more perfect, there are more brothers and sisters to join our family, and we feel the warmth of home, harmony, warmth, love.
Selected essays:
The heart in the jump love in the burn
Each past, each drop of memory, each text, in the memories of the quiet awakening, that is engraved in the three stone strands of tenderness, no longer silent sleep, enchanting twisting charming body, in the depths of the soul accompanied by a deafening DJ swaying with abandon.
Walked through the days of 365 days, in the moment of the ticking sound of chewing this blossoming heart, dreaming of every reunion, are enough to let the depressed emotions unfold smile, such as that bloom ghostly flowers, bearing a fragrant wind, domineering invasion of the heart of the field, coveted love as a strong alcoholic beverages, spell but a drunkenness, soundly in the dream of flying flowers of the sweetness of the aroma. (Beautiful paragraph)
Tread lightly on the rhythm of the heart, the string of love, shelved in the heart of the southern air, in the queue clear words, for you to chant the pain that half a bend of the moon. Pick up the past drops, some memories, but also to facilitate the half-awake half-drunk suddenly bright and dark, is a dream is also true, as if the first time I saw the wisp of shyness, still visible, hand over the face of the smile, just like a fluttering flower, Man dance to the end of the world.
The heart is jumping, with the eyes of the firm in space and time, calling out your figure, sensing the sweet attachment, reading the soul of the two places apart, warming up every moment of missing, holding hands, in your warm embrace, promising to live and die with each other.
The heart is jumping, jumping for you, painting red makeup for you, spilling a drop of dazzling red tears for you, flying over the last day of the fourth season for you as a bird, waving the strings of the years, practicing a thousand years of sharp heart swords, falling on the edge of the cliffs of your acacia, waiting for me, so that murmured whispers echoed throughout the universe, weaving up the transcendent world ***, and you holding hands in the sheet music sliding, dancing! ......
Segments of perfect memories, let the love in the burning, accompanied by the afterglow of the sunset embellished with the beating pace and you slowly grow old, let the love of passion and madness, waiting in the infinite desert hope that belongs to its beautiful green bird.
Burning love only we can experience, 365 days of dribs and drabs, every thing is deep in the depths of the soul so clear, already familiar with the face wrapped in the pleasure of warming up the beating heart, like a kindling burning the world you and I, the world, the red dust with each other not to give up, in the vortex of love and love overflowing with the vicissitudes of the sea and the sea you and I.
The world is not only the world, it is also a place for the people of the world, but also for the people of the world.
The heart is jumping in love in the burning, in the flow of years mapped in the smoke and water pulse, in the quiet no one when folding the willow and song, see across the bank blooming peach blossom, with the wind whisk swinging shy condensed incense. The love of the full is not to be disdained on the green sky, green mountains and green water is our unceasing footsteps, embracing the ebb and flow of the tide is our ***, a long time to miss is the bud bud bud, perfect past is out of the wild horse out of the obstacles of the cross, in the blue sky in the white clouds, thinking of our new long-lasting days and nights.
Selected essays:
The heart in the jump love in the burn
Each past, each drop of memory, each text, in the memories of the quiet awakening, that is engraved in the three stone strands of tenderness, no longer silent sleep, enchanting twisting charming body, in the depths of the soul accompanied by a deafening DJ swaying with abandon.
Walked through the days of 365 days, in the moment of the ticking sound of chewing this blossoming heart, dreaming of every reunion, are enough to let the depressed emotions unfold smile, such as that bloom ghostly flowers, bearing a fragrant wind, domineering invasion of the heart of the field, coveted love as a strong alcoholic beverages, spelled out but a drunkenness, and soundly in the dream of flying flowers of the sweetness of the aroma. (500 words of beauty)
Tread lightly on the rhythm of the heart, the string of love, shelved in the heart of the southern air, in the queer words, for you to chant pain that half-bent moon. Pick up the past drops, some memories, but also to facilitate the half-awake half-drunken suddenly bright and dark, is a dream is also true, as if the first time I saw the wisp of shyness, still visible, hand over the face of the smile, just like a fluttering flower, Man dance to the end of the world.
The heart is jumping, with the eyes of the firm in space and time, calling out your figure, sensing the sweet attachment, reading the soul of the two places apart, warming up every moment of missing, holding hands, in your warm embrace, promising to live and die with each other.
The heart is jumping, jumping for you, painting red makeup for you, spilling a drop of dazzling red tears for you, flying over the last day of the fourth season for you as a bird, waving the strings of the years, practicing a thousand years of sharp heart swords, falling on the edge of the cliffs of your acacia, waiting for me, so that murmured whispers echoed throughout the universe, weaving up the transcendent world ***, and you holding hands in the sheet music sliding, dancing! ......
Segments of perfect memories, let the love in the burning, accompanied by the afterglow of the sunset embellished with the beating pace and you slowly grow old, let the love of passion and madness, waiting in the infinite desert hope that belongs to its beautiful green bird.
Burning love only we can experience, 365 days of dribs and drabs, every thing is deep in the depths of the soul so clear, long familiar with the face wrapped in the pleasure of warming up the beating heart, like a kindling burning the world you and I, the world, the red dust with each other not to give up, in the vortex of love and love overflowing with the vicissitudes of the sea and the sea you and I.
The world is not only the world, it is also a place for the people of the world, but also for the people of the world.
The heart is jumping in love in the burning, in the flow of years mapped in the smoke and water pulse, in the quiet no one when folding the willow and song, see across the bank blooming peach blossom, with the wind whisk swinging shy condensed incense. The love of the full is not to be disdained on the green sky, green mountains and green water is we have never stopped the footsteps, embracing the ebb and flow of the tide is our ***, the long miss is bud bud bud bud, the perfect past is out of the reins of the wild horse out of the obstacles of the cross, in the blue sky in the white clouds, daydreaming about our new long-lasting days.