In the grain planting season, the wheat waves are rolling and the harvest is in front of us.
jiemucehua.cnThree lives are full of ups and downs, and one is full of joys and sorrows.In the end, who makes the string broken, the flowers fall on the shoulder, in a trance, the sky is not old, and the feeling is hard to break.
The deep and shallow footprints are soon smoothed by the tide, but why is the imprint between the heart deeply engraved, lasting forever.Looking back, step by step through the process of footprints, tears, suddenly feel the decline, perhaps time is too merciless.Let him everything clear, for you a smile between reincarnation sweet fall.
Finally for that a body of Jiangnan misty rain covered the world, after ronghua thanks, but a, mountain and river forever silent.The pulse of life and the plot of running in with each other are just a drama role of self solo dance. On the stage, you can enjoy the beautiful and lonely clothes, but off the stage, you can feel endless sadness and fatigue.
As for me, I can't bear to cry and think about listening. I'm stuck at the thin and cool ferry and look back frequently. I can't see my hope in the future. In this way, I often sigh with lonely sighs in the thousands of miles of smoke.
jiemucehua.cnDream lingering feeling lead, character seal cutting, two feelings for a long time, not in the morning and evening.Loneliness is the tears left by missing. It breaks the horizon, but it can't get rid of the impermanence of the world. Infatuation is scattered all over the place, like withered flowers, falling into the dust, breaking whose thoughts.
You quietly into my life, and disappeared in my world, the original blank emotional page, is fragmented fragmentary chapters, although God has given me the inspiration of the text, but also can not write this is what kind of pain.Missing tears, scattered in the heart, painful memories, looking back, feeling has been cold, pain is also deep.
Winter, this white winter is not cold, but no one understands my sadness. In the days as plain as a day, my memory has long been fixed into a bleak riverside painting, cold and desolate. Why is there only desolation and desolation in my eyes? How many times the flowers on the skirt, how many times the dead leaves brush the window, and how many times the autumn geese take away your smile.Seeing the story of a broken Town, the kite flies by,
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