In the morning wind, the night's bleak has not retired, she is alone in the narrow field, maybe wearing a single hand, holding a single hand, in the thoughts, spent a voice. The past will open the past, and the monocular sound in memory in the memory is like a monotonous foot, which is slightly sundial, and the words are filled in the heart. The wildflowers of the road are unscrupulous, and the tall poplar is standing in the distance, and the mottled wings are stretched. In the sky of the dawn, a faint drunk is long. The wind is blowing, she is about to solidify, and she will bring the long-term whisper, "Shen buried memory, sedimentation and joking ..." She began to fantasize, think that she is a spring with saffron green leaves; I want to be tear open in the dark; The fast lightning; thinking that he is a long period when the train starts. She told himself that the vast dream can not be filled with a color, no matter how rushed to suddenly call the heart of the sea, they will calm and comfortable, despite the beautiful beauty, but in It passed the moment, she knew that this beautiful is faster than the remaining year, and it is more romantic than the sunset. She is outlined in the heart of the watercolor: When life's white snow is solidified, people do not help but open the door of memory, I like a photo of Zhang Ji, then, people will cry, will put everything today, Remember ...
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