vicissitudes, a section of the memory is still not old, still look at the red dust, the quiet summer, in the creeping of a reunion. The scattered past time is clearly visible in the corner, a fleeting, breaking bomb whose lonely eyes, breeze, park landscape Qing Huan, some people some stories, not the distance can be blocked, as long as the heart, through the curl of red dust, will encounter such asThis wasnot adecisionthat Itook lightly.
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Meditation, the heart like glaze, a red dust edge, a calyx season, years of mercy, time in the quiet, the word Enron. To cook a pot of ink, flowers and wine, such as you, to drink, do not say, the meaning of flashing eyes, is the world know the soft, and sing the most beautiful songs of the heart.
Red dust, air circulation, time window Xuan, a flower filled with feelings, my fishing thoughts in the fragrant words, listening to the beautiful. The heart of the Acacia branches floating shadow, ink confused drunk, water into the beauty of poetry, only a retrospect, that encounter the Red Cross, see the flowers are blooming, is no longer an untouchable legend.
Life habits in a noisy, ink words, let life poem, let the heart and brow germination, the breeze out of the heart and not edge and lonely, not only love and melancholy, and graceful swaying time to say, tell only lingering and poetry vivid red Yun, shake off the feelings of the three thousand Beijing. I give you the red fireworks, past and present.
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