aiting for my sil


In July, let me put the blue light of the future blue and yellow silk Online Cigarettes, the year of the white hair, and stray into the depths of the flowers, just to find you thousands of Baidu. That year, the wind lived in the dusty scent, and the things were not stunned by the year, the alleys were red and brown, and the one who owed a drop of cinnabar tears, the more eager to go; the road, the farther and farther; the affection, the more you go Deep; love, the more you go, the lighter; hope, the more you go, the smaller; the older, the bigger the more you go; the more you go, the more you go, the more you go, the more you go, the more you stay, the more you forget, the more you forget the flowers Marlboro Lights. Dropped in the ocean of words, quietly waiting for my silence. The wind is lingering in my ear, and it will be built down. Xiahua Mo is full of the horizon, forgetting the windless pavilion at night and the flowers are gradually opening. The flower blossoms in a season, the past is like the wind, and the night sky is drawn. What I left behind was the glory of turning away. Through a night of chastity, I will be in the past with a faint scent of the past. I will look back at the starry sky at the beginning of a golden dream. I will put thousands of songs shallow. Singing the wind and blowing Pelan, a sword is fragrant Newport Cigarettes. Pick up the flowers and float them in the wind; pick up the past and remember the traces. Spend thousands of Baidu, do not say that memory is the trace of the flow of the year, that thousand flowers tree is my exclusive collection. That year, in that month, if you remember the east of the weeping willow purple, then my thoughts will soon fall into the spring breeze, and the strangeness of the city once again reminded me that the flower is the best story, sweeping away when and where the time is. Looking up, three thousand sunny days, I only take one party. Looking for happiness in silence, reaching out, the time of the water is flowing through the sand, pouring at the fingertips. Looking back, who is like a dream, but can't easily disperse? Hidden in the corner of the floating, where is the age of zero, who is the silence of youth? Regardless of all the sadness, indulge in the past, who is not willing to wake up? In the years of that year, staying like a dream of youth, like a book of water in front of the past, let the red, will forget the past, turned into dirt, without leaving melons
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