Night, weiyang, air, some thin cool mists of street in the winter wow gold buy, some clear discussion alone, some hint of sentimentality. Streetlight shine some slight yellowing, so the road at the foot of Lonesome long. The end of the road, who spilt ink, rendering a pitch-dark night? The end of the night, who is blocking the door, locking of a lonely heart?
Such a late night, such a path, so that I, wandering on this side is no land on flowers, some empty feeling, as is obviously familiar with the matter, but I can't remember, and left like a bad dream in mind. Cold winter, the flower is gone, the dream, he did not know when you can pick up.
Remember that summer, flower day, we walk in the Park, surrounded by thousands of fangfei Pavilion in the poetry of flowers, that King, still fresh. Breeze brushed, scattered trees petals, provoke me hidden inside of a touch of sadness. Wind swept messed up you squash hair, black hair covering your eyes, I see your eyes, but you're going, when flowers fall, do not know where you and I. The sound is very light very light, but I can hear very clearly, very clearly. When flowers, where you and I? Are dependent not xiangli, or the ends of two faces?
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