Author: just fall in love with you. Source: article reading network Time:2015-02-07 23:21
If a paragraph of text, can remember a heartbeat, I would like to hide the moment of time, engraved in the lintel of memory; if a season of feeling, can lock the eternal, I would like to borrow a thick ink, dipped in a cavity of warmth and tenderness, painted in front of the case, hidden in the heart; to the sideburns stained with frost, looking back, still have a warmth haunting the bosom, the brow of the shallow smile.
Twisting a lamp in the case, so that the years quietly bloom, that a pool of ink, floating with or far or near the memory, in the corner of time, blossomed sweetly; with a wisp of flowers, so that it is at a certain time, green grass like grass, flowers bloom like a brocade; so that the distant thoughts, like a wandering heart, like a song, chasing a dream on the other side of the river.
A season of a lifetime of love, a flower of a world of love, a curtain of ten thousand kinds of dreams, looking forward to let the sea change into a mulberry field.
The time of the fingertips, walking in the season of flowers and butterflies; a touch of tenderness like water, inadvertently, hazy, with the wind fluttering and flying, rosy and sentimental song of the heart; in love with the summer strata, sweet as a dream.
The red dust of the purple strata, like water flowing, harboring a poetic feelings, seeking a calm and tranquil, shallow speech falling flowers red dust.
With a curtain of dreams, looking back at a coat of years; looking for a wisp of sound, stopping to look back once; holding a river of bright moon, sending a paper fish book; distant thoughts drifting, just for a season of waiting, a stop, an ignorant thoughts.
The snow is pure white, who can pain book a paper, cross flute a song, blowing down five thousand years of bloody plum blossoms; snow fall plum heart, today's wind, can touch your yesterday's lapel, heroes anger for the red face in the thousands of years under.
A thousand years of days turned over line by line, looking forward to the twilight look back, you are in the end of the lights, smile!
Thoughts such as rain, rain and stand, one stop is a thousand years.
The other side of the flower open the other side of the river, forget the river water look through, such as rain thoughts, such as the wind sentiment, if the smoke like fog confuse the memory, the corridor of the season of disruption.
Flying flowers like a dream, sweet into the eyes; butterfly dance in love, lingering heart song; people drunk, tease a wisp of flowers, fixed a pool of blue waves.
Splash ink on rice paper, sing a paper flow of years, a curtain of heart language, silk flow.
Thoughts are sometimes like the wind, sometimes like the rain, sometimes like the mountains; such as an unaware of the return date of the ark drifting, drifting to the unattainable shore; such as touching the edge of the shadow, drifting in the fingers of time, silent; and as a long string of notes, footprints stepping on the years, slowly flowing long, sometimes sweet, sometimes heartbreaking.
Have thought that at first sight, is the most beautiful encounter in this life; have thought that a promise to each other, is the most eternal scenery in the jinxed years; have thought that heart to heart, is the pursuit of no regrets; and then the prosperity falls, but also as floating foam, condensing long pale accompanied by rusty wind chimes of the ancient tower, the people go empty, a sadness ......
May the clear rhyme of acacia, can fall into the flute diagonally; may that part of the pure, that warmth, can be dyed for you under the eyebrow of the window.
Flower fall string break, break three thousand obsessions, wind Hua a finger sand, aged a period of years.
Recollections like the wind, blowing down a place of prosperity; years of silent, thin cool a song of sadness; life as a dream, pale years marks; a paper cool, a world enjoined, thin whose lapel, cool whose waiting, sadness, whose eye brows; flick of the finger between the lonesome lonely shadow, messed up the red face of the tip of the hair ......
The qin and the past.
Like flowers and beautiful women, like water flowing years, who caress me a trace of hair, who owes me the price of a lifetime, who will smoke burned scattered, scattered across the ties; see the cherry blossoms all over the sky, sadness flow, tearful eyes, the mountains and rivers forever silent, how can I be happy?
Heart incense a petal, gently coated, a word such as, pale who's face, thin who's clothes, deserted who's thoughts? 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 you'll be able to do it all in one place.
How many fallen Ying, dancing alone with whose lonely dress; how many pen and ink, night and day reciting whose snow, moon and wind; butterflies are very beautiful, but ultimately flew through the sea; fog scattering, waking up, has been the silence of the end of a thousand sails.
The temperature between the fingers, how can warm a city deserted? If the heart is not moving, the heart will not be hurt, the years will be safe? 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 them.
Who buried a lifetime of promises, turned into flowers on the other side of the shore; who burned out a world of splendor, planted three generations of lovesickness; who used a life of desolation, in exchange for a lifetime of joy; whose fingers flowed between the faintly delicate, pale and powerless to speak, write a paper sadness.
Who poured me a world of tenderness, but negative my three worlds of sadness, who promised me a lifetime of mulberry, but negative my three life on the other side of the bank of the fireworks, who promised me the red dust and purple strata, but flamboyant a world of instantaneous empty.
A water of ancient tenderness, a world of heart fragrance, a vein of tender thoughts, separated by a river of misty rain haze, scattered in the depths of memory ......
The fingers are too wide, the time is too thin, the years of forgetfulness, stranded, but the displacement of the world; margins, such as water, shao hua end, the residual flowers withered, ten thousand feet of the world, the years, and cast again! I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to do that.
Only hope, in a time of light, picking up the warm scent of a prime time, with you around ......
An eternity, a write is a thousand years, a paper pen and ink, always, always for you to stay hidden