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Someone once said that the white head will not be separated. However, after all, a bit of empty talk, in a blink of an eye, will be thrown on the other side. However, I have always believed. Then, along the way of chasing, the thorns are full, but they have never bowed

It turns out that some waiting is not worthwhile. So what I have exchanged for many years is the sacred sea. We are only a drop in the ocean. We can’t control the miracles and sufferings of fate. If we face a little, we may only have to wait, but waiting is necessary. Courage, but also have the courage to bear the results that are very different from the results that are waiting.

Thoughts and sorrows, the sadness of the ancients, the world’s various kinds, the shackles of the levees, the three mountains and five sacred mountains, the reputation of the heavens and the earth, the Changji of the water, the tenderness of the sorrows, can not help but feel full of leisure.

Life is full of love, this hate does not close the wind and the moon. Who is really in love? Who is crazy about who is crazy? Who is looking for someone to wear autumn water? Who is it for everyone? They are all white lines that you and I can’t solve. There is no reason for life, and you can be tired of this life.

Acacia has become a kind of self-consolation in the lives of many people. When you are in the moon, you can’t miss them. When you are missing from the moon, you will be infinitely sorrowful, and you will miss all the joys and sorrows associated with love in the years. In the world of emotions, we have been carrying all the shackles, regardless of the wind and rain, regardless of the wind and the sun.

Dyeing the window. It’s a windy path that doesn’t seem to be full. The rest of the time is staying in China, and the season is red and empty. The eyebrows are drunk, the red makeup is light, and the old ones are attached to the dust. Only the moon is long, and the Qiankun turns, so the country is mountain. The second time, the suspect is the yangko back.

In life; there are always too many regrets to be left to memories, years old; unremarkable mottled, always outlines countless broken heartaches. Too much persistence can’t be put down, just; that unyielding pain, but unexpectedly is the most beautiful accident. The text can still be sleek and simple, and the age cannot be a beautiful dream. Happiness is not a luxury that cannot be extravagant, sad, but often a decadent decadence.

After the journey of life, after experiencing countless stops, there will always be strange or familiar scenery. The passengers mentioned in time are only the people and things that are destined to go. Not many are deliberately to remember or forget. Spreading in black and white, nothing more than sadness has passed through the darkness, in the corner of memory, telling all the things to be continued. The coolness that stops at the fingertips is the smash that once bloomed in the years.

The inter-finished years, rendering the innocent mottled colorful plastic, the sad city is still brushing the ink, drawing the four seasons wind blowing no trace. The smile concealed the lonely tears because, in the years of the mother-in-law, listening to the acquaintance of no one. Those who have been in the past are dreams that linger in the depths of sorrow, full of heart and sigh. It’s just like a year of water, a breeze, and an old dream.

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