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09.08.2019 03:27
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The beauty of the past is mottled in the heart, and the beautiful picture portrays the dream of falling asleep into the abyss of darkness again and again. The tearful eyes are on the edge of the dream, reminiscent of the darkness of the margin, the fragmentary memory is especially deserted, and the soul is deep. The most fragile corner, the trembling emotions. The pale face was yellow and the snow-covered wilderness, the white snow lost the original plain white, and the heavy miserable expression of heavy thoughts became awkward. The dream is caught in too many vicissitudes, involving too much sorrow, sinking into the sorrow of sorrow, and the silence that can't be touched by silence. I was fascinated by half-sleeping and half-awake, struggling In the Yellow River mouth in April, the birds roared and the grass grows. In the whisper of Chunyan, the earth that had slept for a winter slowly opened his eyes. Those who crouched in her body, as she awoke, slowly stretched her muscles and cheered. Yang Liufei, a hundred flowers full of flowers... The entire Yellow River mouth wilderness was replaced with green and green clothes. In the wilderness of Liao, I was pleasantly surprised to see her soft and green figure. In my field of vision, although she has avoided a whole winter, I always feel that she has not left my mind. I like green, I like all the plants on the earth, and I feel quite puzzled. As a man, I think of flowers and plants as my life. Sometimes I am fascinated by the flowers and plants in the flower shop and the market. If you don��t buy your hand, you won��t be willing to stop. I have bought countless potted flowers of these herbs in these years. So far, there are dozens of potted orchids and flowers in the house. I am still thinking about it. I am still growing in the Yellow River Estuary. The wild vegetables of the mustard have a special liking. The yellow cabbage has dragged me too much love, and I have entered too much of my mood. I decided to write this piece of text for her in a light breeze, and it was raining in the sky. The rain in April is soft and foggy, and it is as warm as jade. It falls on the body and is soft and soft. Walking in the drizzle of Hunchun, pwith my nightmare. I can't forget the shredded pictures, the indelible patterns are dimmed with endless thoughts Cheap Cigarettes, and the incomplete happiness magnifies the cold winter. The happiness of the cold season condensation, the sky is full of vicissitudes mixed with salty tears, you can not return to the choice of mouth, but I can not comfort my own sadness, can have several chances in my life, belong to me You didn't give it, you walked so quietly, didn't care about my taste at all, left me alone in the wild snow on the wilderness, I don't know when it was dyed with the dust of the city, the original white snow was covered with a layer. Thick and dark injury. However, the trajectory of time is still hovering over the imaginary equator. The white snow on the Ferris wheel has been sealed by the cold winter. The happiness that can't be seen is stagnant in the sorrow of looking at the 45�� tilt. The wet and painful pain is sore. . I don't remember how long I haven't been happy. The kind of grief that has penetrated into the bone marrow has not left for a long time. When I look up at the sky, watching the clouds look good, the messy atmosphere is always sobbing beside me, I can't tell the truth. Perhaps it is really necessary to erase the memory of this heartache mokingusacigarettes.com, the tears of tears behind me, tearing up the Fanghua, the decadent sinking lost in grief, it is looking for long-lost sunshine "facing the sea Spring blossoms." The so-called waiting is just a person's interpretation. The sorrow behind the clown will understand, and the immersive immersed in his own role. The gradually blurred memory in the crowd will be desperately reminiscent, and the gear of time will be crushed. Just as the white snow can't stand the test of time and slowly melt away Carton Of Cigarettes. Maybe find a beginning story, write a perfect ending, no sorrow, no sorrow, no so-called desolation; full of gorgeous marches, full of youthful flying lights, let the silent years shine, those prosperous griefs eventually The quicksand has become the past, the initial face, the dream is to vicissitudes, the dreams are impermanent, the fate of sorrow, the place where it is swaying; the singularity of the singularity, the things are not, the people are not, the illusion |
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