not to meet, but to pick up memories. The ancient road stone bridge, the green brick Dawa, the path that covers the longitude and latitude, can let anyone lose their way. If the fragrance is not deep and the rain is not strong, who will come here without reason? The sky is dusk and the stars are dim. Everything around you is like a dream. Life is just a dream. It doesn't matter how deep your feelings are, you'll have to give up.
Green moss in March, the wind blows the catkins. Shi Nan, who is silent on the shore, is beside the pool. There are so many people who are quietly flowing in time. When we meet by chance, we find ourselves similar. So they went to love each other with no difference. I remember when I said I was like the wind, because I met you, and decided to linger around you. But you say that you are like rain, regardless of time, always choking, because met me, but decided to lose himself. All words, like an oath, have taken root since then, and we all hope that one day, those love, can grow into a great number.
I used to pick up other people's stories to enrich my feelings, but now I find that deep love, every moment can continue to write an ending. But we can not write randomly in love, so the road of destiny becomes thinner. One day, we will always go to the precipice. On that day, we were invited to read, and you read, "Mo Dao does not disappear, the curtain rolls the west wind, the man is thinner than the yellow flower", and suddenly it says: "the chrysanthemum outside the win
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