Monologue romance

I held that cigarette in my hand and said something alone, asking the rusty key to open the door of the sun. Ah, let all the sunshine string up the wish. Ah, let every past grow full of flowers and plants. Ah, let love and hate become more and more prosperous and refined. Running away, complaining about heaven and people on Geely’s digital. 168 168, all the way, all the way, the bitter spring and autumn on the land full of scars. Ah, who shouted in the tenacious trek? There are sharp swords in the heartbeat. I had no choice but to light the paper money in my hand. In the years of sacrifice and the time of gods, I arranged a spell into a line with strong wind and rain and tragic footprints, feeling life and death. Seeing the red mountains and forests everywhere, and the red leaves flying in all directions on the road, the imagination of you and me turned into poems and songs. Beauty and ugliness, truth and falsehood are intertwined with the joys and sorrows of life all the time, and those warm. The reflection is the figure of you and me, scarred. Trap, in the scene covered with colorful colors, the green leaves on the free branches turned yellow, chanting poems. The Shadow in the flowing water became thinner, singing songs. Everything grows and matures in the wind and rain, and the wonderful flowers are in every scar on the land. How much comfort and romance have turned into a wisp of sunshine and dust, falling heavily on that tortuous and bumpy road, immersed in the Vientiane moaning by every line of footprints, rich in the aftertaste and curse of life. I carved a line of words on the stone. Ah, staring at the stone statue, the world is hot and cold. The worry of life, trudge in the fire and water. All-inclusive, on each piece of plaid manuscript paper. The trembling of the wind pushed all the Hearts away. Yes, the wine flag was riddled with holes in the vast expanse. Yes, in the vast dream, everything is greedy. Yes, the conspiracy between him and her was locked in the mighty. I walked from one kind of music to another kind of music, and many kinds of maturity and enthusiasm gradually became that nature print, homeless, I had to stand beside that old tree and overlook the Spring and Autumn period, lamenting the time. Therefore, the wind and sand blew the old years, and you and me. The sound of the waves is still the same, passing away on that leaf. The road in the palm of your hand is full of the sound of heart and heart. Standing sadly, all the scenes were mottled. Along the melody of the happy hometown, I walked into the sunshine and moonlight, and walked into the small stone house surrounded by the fence, talking about flowers and plants, it became the nursery rhyme and enchanting mountain ballad which was blown by trumpet flowers on the mud wall. The alternation of the new and the old is reciprocating one by one. Passing by, the peaks and valleys of each time forever. Love and hate, like the wind and rain, filled with the world how many thoughts, heavy waves of foot sound. The white color chased by time is thick into colorful colors. Overlooking, the dark clouds, the Phantom waves, dream into a blossoming flower in the sky. Black and White are clear, far-reaching in the vast expanse. In the wandering story, there is another pain. Therefore, I arranged the initial imagination into Hieroglyphs Without rhyme one by one, reflecting the cloak and bathing figures one by one, rising or falling on the green branches. From then on, in every meditation, I nodded my head, sighing from the wings of life far or near, and the leisurely call echoed a burst of songs of my mother. There was a pain in taking care all the way, over the mountains. There is a kind of wandering, standing in the wind and rain. The bird’s wings became tired into every sound of the waves. Maybe, in your eyes and me, the strands of wind and dust are attached to the beginning one after another, and the breath of life contains the most beautiful and tragic plots and contents; how much I want to get close to you, and experience your heartbeat and breath with warmth. All sorts of strange things, thick is that layer of dust. The music played by all parties is also a wisp of dust. A wild love is popular in the whisper of the blowing wind. Is? The dust blew on my face, which made me open my heart and marvel at doors and windows in the scarred scene of swords and swords. Insomnia, fireworks and the deep-rooted memories of breaking into the door turned into oil paintings full of insects and fishes. I finally understood the past and rearranged the days full of wind and rain one by one, putting all my doubts in the running water, hanging all in the light and water, not those bare branches, overlook the dream again and again. I finally figured out the emotion of that period, and put the most fashionable advertisement on everyone’s face, every modern word is full of the ups and downs of the world and life, as well as the gains and losses and the right and wrong. Finally, I found the mistake brought by beauty, marching silently on the crisscross road, regardless of the wind and waves, footprints and the sigh of the figure, the song and the picture scroll of life are written again and again, attracting the soul. From then on, I picked up the bleeding feather and chatted. Since then, all the romance remains warm and cold

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