Le 5 janvier 2017, 04:29 dans Humeurs • 0
The dream of red peach cup, lonely lonely months ago; thinking enemy, ink in search of news, do not read the past, gone with the wind.
How to count the time, years old, those who dream of the way the story, seems to always in the memories of parking. Often; in an old song in a melodious Memorial, even in the days of waiting, still a loss of too much worry, life is the most beautiful scenery on the road, lost forever in the left behind too much miss, destined to become a kind of unspeakable sadness, like the falling paper text. There are some words that make people feel so heartache.
The pool leaves thin, situationed ink, breeze to vivid, night moon, a dream heart blank, but I do not know what to ask; in the twinkling of an eye; green bottle cup, drunk to listen to pen not old; clouds transit, remembering the original injury. Perhaps no one likes to recall more than I do, and so on, sit in front of the window, thinking of the past in the picture, the end of the book is the voice of personnel, but also the last deserted.
Light song of wine, write the spring and Autumn period, a year old shadow, small flowers and falling back. So a few human dream to the guest, do not want to hold the notes filled with hurt words words, look back along the way, the rest almost all seclusion, yet inviting sad more broken memories. How much time the scenery, eventually in the blink of an eye behind, and fill in the box of beautiful memories.
Events such as wind, memory and set off time in the white gauze, letterhead, sentimental and text after the dialogue, as revealed from the fingertips, the past is always miss miss, that's gone, in the scenery behind the misty dream voiceless. Yes; this stop and go days, really seems to be his fall too much, lonely in the city, most of the dwelling, or emotional blocks of text knowledge.
In the world, too many back and forth, those dreams had bloomed in the end is a debauch, in the last years mottled stars, left over from yesterday's beautiful, even gentle eyes, also could not bear to say goodbye, perhaps, as well as the intentions of love people, even strangers apart, that once a vigor of the emotions, is always the most true, but finally; each other, Rouqingsishui will be interpreted into the heart.
Quiet night, stopped the hands of the pen, eyes closed, thinking, seems to think too much. Sometimes; I don't hate your indifference, but do not resent their self, and I hate your memory, will be a period of the past, think again, because that will make me sad moment into a habit, can not find a trace of warmth traces, and the text is still sway.
The sea heart tower, the wind in the willows shadow before, but the size of a shaking body, lack of self, the wind passing away. The injury character falling paper, and write down to the clouds, a few cups of loneliness, brandish on paper for me over a month ago, drink a pot of wine, but always refused to do the dream book sounds overwhelming. Sparse off shadow; a drunk, wine knowledge injury, no one asked in love, this is me, will I have sometimes to complete glass.
Time still, just a reincarnation the vicissitudes of the heart, those who have the beautiful past, faltering of the time, it has become the scars of memory, we can't go back, the passage of time, too wet eyes irrepressible tears, was far away from all those people and things once. The forever in the memory of the palm, I always believe that this precipitation and the emotion, finally is the time change of clouds.
The leaves withered, will be covered with road, Wushirenfei, past yunyan. All this, it is life to follow the trajectory, sometimes we try to change the outcome, and finally incapable of action, between reality and fantasy, forever true, the dream is again beautiful, also will be broken by the cruel reality, and finally the lack of courage, I think it is because of too much penetration will cause let an original heart with fear.
In the past as a cloud, just pinch grip Memorial, shock touch memory strings, remember many years ago, we shared the story, through hard mud in the rain, the youth grass sat on the floor, smile to see clear, ebb and flow, miss will eventually become the sigh, too many things are don't stop the time on the slow play, finally scattered in the past, only once, not to end the dream, all have good.