The thought is bone-deep, lonely, and beautiful. It is like a wind chime in front of the eaves, shaking the window of the heart of the years, and like a curtain of smoke and rain across the world of the red dust, came quietly, in the heart of the missing people circling, haunting, and not go on; lonely as an empty city, lonesome for several generations of the sinking and floating, but the idea of the window of the time, and the deep love, and the fragrance and the soul of the collision with a full embrace. I believe that some of the ideas in life, will eventually meet in the deepest dust in the heart of the good, so never expect every flower to open to the extreme, as long as there is so one, is your heart of the mind, the years on the terrier of the enchanting, on the good.
If the years are a song into the heart of the ballad, the red dust is a scene of you and me clutch, then life is a scene in the wind and water, or clouds and smoke in the silence of the heart of the practice, fireworks in the quiet understanding of the hustle and bustle, the edge of the world and the line and cherish, if you know my heart, I know you mean, then I want to accompany you through the vicissitudes of the sea and the years of the trail out of the scenery of a spring bloom where the mountains and the water pouring out, where the warmth is pouring, how good is the city? The first thing you need to do is to get a good deal of money from the government!
The time of the poem on the paper, edge, is ultimately a paper Lyric endless love, write endless love, the idea of the past life, the love of this world, and an unforgettable volume of looking back. I believe, remember in the heart of the blossoms of the happy good, there is the fragrance of the grass and trees, there are into the heart of the encounter, no matter how time turns, I would like to guard a deepest red dust, and that have the fate of the soul of a reunion, across the time, the silence of the love, ink like.
Stranger Shaoguang, the most like a walk on paper, a plain white mess with the old dreams of the red dust, a song of the remnants of the chapter of the lonesome of the time of the lingering, who is thinking about, who is obsessed with the text of the ferry poured a cup of tea, the curls of the fragrance of the fog in which we each say the secrets of the heart, a wave of rain and wind, wet barren, seasonal rotation, mottled the flow of the years. That a blossom Euphemism who years of past events, that a wisp of tenderness destined to the edge of the millennium waiting. In the prosperity, those who dance in the dust of the memory, finally was time gently picked up, hold in the heart of the moment, is still that warm, that deep love, such as the first encounter like love at first sight.
Time passes, the years turn, see and do not see, are willing to abide by the end of the world with you, the red dust is quiet; ink in the flow of the year, there is the idea of the light of the day, to say or not to say, are only for you to bloom in the strangers, the fragrance of the flowers in the garden. Pour a cup of wine of the first heart, overflowing with the heart of the fragrance, fingertips flowing with the memory of the love, the dark fragrance, into the heart, dyeing the soul at the pulse of the warmth. That a wisp of intoxicating incense, roaming through the text of the riverbed, dialing the heart strings of the surplus, a song of the earth's fate I paint with my heart, pen point ink flowers, pen doodle pouring heart, love and thoughts, charming the most beautiful scenery in the flow of the years, spread out the time of the palm of the scroll of the years, we are the end of the world to the eyes, a light smile, a smile.
Outside the window, the color of the moon, ask, the bright moon can send countless feelings? The first thing you need to do is to look at the color of your eyes and ask if the ink in your heart can be used to describe the light of the stars. The first thing I'd like to say is that I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to do this, but I'm sure I'm going to be able to do it, and I'm sure I'm not going to be able to do it. The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on some of the most popular products and services in the world, and then you'll be able to get your hands on some of the most popular products and services in the world.
The years are silent, a piece of Chinese light under the moon, pouring a pool of heart lotus, is the hand picked a, placed on the pillow, I know it comes, only for you to be immaculate, only for you if you are long days of water, only for you to lie quietly in the red dust, obsessed with the heart does not change, no regrets. How many soft memories, euphemism for the vicissitudes of rolling over the wheel of the years. How much of the red dust, lingering a few degrees of flowers floating over the charming. How many dreams of reunion, stunning the scenery of several generations of looking back. Moonlight, flowing at the foot. The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on a new pair of shoes or boots, and then you'll be able to get your hands on a new pair of shoes or boots.
The years are like water, who are you reading? The first thing you need to do is to get your hands dirty. The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on some of the most popular products and services in the world. The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on some of the most popular products and services in the world. Who pry open the heart of love, a bunch of memories, a flood. In fact, the life of the past, there is always some warmth to appease the feelings of despondency, an attachment, endless. There is always a person in the heart of the seclusion, miss the pain, rendering the life of the silence, into the bones of the pain, and enrich the charm of the years.
Want and do not want to think, read and do not think, just listen to the heart said. I can't help myself, the sea of love has long lost itself. Life has a lot of involuntary, willingly, such as you and I met, eyes across the landscape, peach blossom at the beginning of the time, stunning a poem of love, from now on, the heart began a long time thinking. Touching the dark night micro-white, floating on the fingertips of the sadness, sweet, exquisite, condensing the depths of the flow of years, wandering in the color of the night spots. Hidden in the heart, those shallow memories were salvaged one by one; soul lonely place, those years of heart language was secretly banished. The riverbed of acacia has your figure, the hall of words has your presence, you are my years of surprise a skim, you are my red dust love affair of not give up and not give up.
Thinking about you, thinking about thinking, the moon hurts the curved eyebrows. Love you, love love, dusty heart lotus, love you, love love love, dream drunk butterfly language. The red dust is small, and tonight is colored with loneliness. Stranger Qian Qian, this world and ink flowers sleep together. Once met, the end of the year, walk through the time of the landscape, stepped through the ten thousand strands of dust and smoke, see the moonlight as water, and ruffled the inner depths of the acacia, countless.
Life has ideas, years of extreme beauty. Strangers walking, do not ask how many flowers bloom, do not say how many snow and wind, the seasons turn, and this life I wish, time will remember all the warmth in the world, the place called Acacia, not lost in the wind of the idea of still quiet growth, not lost love flowers still warm bloom, as when you and I met the same wonderful.