I feel tired, my tired thoughts begin to sort out the wrong tears, the sad and intoxicating cycle is difficult to understand too many cycles, many words are gone, many people cannot see each other again, and they still have two tears after losing too many words, one word, one scene of nostalgia, looking at the fragility of the heart, missing the happiness of the past, time is still so thick, and appointment is still so deep. The simple reading of too much understanding makes the portrayal of the soul appear a persistent dream, the thoughts rolled up, and the walking is not appointed, seeing, not expecting, and many tastes are still so shallow.

It's late at night, and the cold thoughts are still reciting the songs of the past, holding a sunset, giving a fragrance, intoxicating thoughts, unable to walk into the hometown of the past, the infatuated relief is still so indifferent, the clear opera lyrics cannot act the right and wrong of the past, the lost heart, the perceived soul, the indifferent look back, the place that does not belong to you, the tears of leaving, the pain of dreams, the stubbornness of attachment still cannot be smooth sailing, the true meaning of life is not destined to be the fate of time, the destiny of getting to know each other, the loss of too many wind and moon, and the irrigated river is still easy to dry up.

I used to think that time is just the company of figures, but now I have become a figure as the guardian of time. I looked at the passers-by, think about the words of the past, many things, many people, never see each other again when I come, and many words will not be described like that again after hearing it. The words of words are spoken, the beating heart, and the waiting of others is haggard. I spent the moment in front of me reading the past topic. The words of the coming and going quietly wet the shadow around me. Looking at the already aggrieved look back, I can’t smile the happiness of the past, I see the giving up that I can’t pick up, and say I can’t let go, but what I can’t let go is gentle.

The sound of typing the keyboard, the charming and familiar melody, the soul listens to strange songs, the melodious spiritual power is thorough in the beginning of my eyes, the words of desire are still so one after another, the words are expressed cannot feel the beating in my heart, the sad temperature measures the scars of the face, who made the promise of giving up, spread his fingers, resting in the footsteps in my dreams, the moon at night still hangs its accompanying embrace, and the tears of perception are not the chance to describe the falling of the stars. It seems that I have never seen such a way to let go. I once said, but now I think about the falling of the stars, and the deception in my heart begins to betrayal.

The sweat shed, the words walking around are still not as familiar as the warmth under the face of others. This scenery is experienced with your heart. The heart of the heart is still so low. I think that it is impossible to do too much in my life, because time always comes too fast, and it makes people cry when I leave. The smell of no hug still comes. The years have broken so many hearts, the dreams have broken so much love, but many people still believe in feelings and the tenderness of dreams. When words hit too much and their thoughts are constantly difficult to control, then the neglect of the soul still belongs to their own heart that is hard to see.

The rolling wind and moon, the trampling of rivers and grass, have gone through the release of cold and warmth, and have seen the cycle of fields and suffering. It is still difficult to express too much love. Listening to the recitation of the four seasons, walking on the dust on the other side, the years I read are gone and lost, and the persistence of waiting changes. Looking at the exquisite snowflakes, I can't see the voices of my thoughts, I sort out the words of others, and adjust the starting point to deal with them. Such a dream, such a love is actually a dream, whether the dream has a lifetime, or a silent thought, and it is still the same person. (Prose reading: www.)

The time of parting is swept away, the time of falling is confused in the surrounding of the evening scene, writing about separation, the fate of separation, the words of people gathering together are hard to reunite, it is still the same scenery, the sunset, but I can't see what I used to be, I can't hear what I used to be, read the drunkenness of leaving, and changed to praying in my thoughts, I quit too much companionship, I have left too much waiting, and I can't reappear what I waited for, and I can't see the dripping of time, but I wet my whole wounded heart. The soul in my mouth depicts the desolation of the figure, burning the departure of the past.

The morning of missing was once joy and silent, there would be no thoughts, no waiting or asking questions. Such a life is the memory of childhood, the memories of this life that fell in this life. Whenever I am outside, my heart thought that if I choose, I would choose to go back to the past. Such companionship is the eternity of this life, no tears, and no one can send the desolate words to you. Looking like this and looking like that, we cannot repay it. It is a kind of no win or loss, no scheming care, which can only bring the dream of the soul back to the past era.

At that time, I was young and knew about the quarrels when I went home. Looking at the ignorant face, I had ignorant speculations in my heart. I once said that I could not escape the face of my family. I don’t know what kind of heart implements the expression of my thoughts. It seems that there are too many ways to make me closer to the care of my family. It was a hopeless era and a picture of sticking to the rules. Such happiness is the spiritual acquaintance. When I grew up, I saw more, said more, said less, said less to the people in my family. I felt that many words were difficult to speak, and many things were insignificant, but the heart that had once accompanied me was still there, and this heart that had grown up without experiencing the storm was still there.

I want to say, but I can't say it, I want to do it, but I can't express it. What kind of life is this kind of growth? Maybe we can't understand the heart of companionship in youth, but under the eyes of growing up, wrinkles have already appeared. Too much has left but too little has come. It is the life of my family that gives us the opportunity to grow up. Their efforts are so brilliant, and the blueprint of painting is so beautiful. When a young heart grows up, maybe we need to be too busy with ourselves and take care of our family. Although the company's heart has seen growth, it also makes us disappointed.

Looking at the sun in the morning, I remembered the time of birth. It was a place where I could cry, but it brought many people a smile. I never faced sadness. I never smiled. What I saw in front of me was a breath of puzzling. When I was in school, I learned four words. "Dad" and "Mom" made my eyes emit the warmth of going home, experience the running of my soul, shuttled through the waiting time, walked into the house, saw my family, wrote "Dad" and "Mom" to them, and saw their smiles flowing with sweat weaving for the children, and I smiled too.
Chapter completed!