The beginning of every story is filled with purple haziness. The woven fantasy web is filled with five colors of longing and full of distant expectations. Weaving stories in the swimming of big fish and begonias, with the alternation of wind and rain seasons, like another snow that can't help but be planned, I don't know when it will turn into the most ordinary story!
Always afraid! Remember. Some people say that it is a wound and it will hurt. Some people also say that it is happiness and very sweet. Yes! We always carve it into intermittent fragments, and play them clearly in our minds repeatedly during a sleepless night. Only! One part is sealed and frozen by the brain; the other part is sublimated in the rings of time and cannot be found.
Each story has its own specific makeup, just like Orchid City in continuous rain. When the wind blows, it is dotted with mist-colored haze, with the declining sake, and the eyes are filled with yellow sand. Yue, hurry up and send your story, from Lanshan Mountain to the ancient pagoda. In the last note of the song "Fly Away", I said, "Good night."
It was a piece of four-leaf Gesang, a Buddha flower that was entrusted with luck by the snowy land. It grew quietly in the vast Liaoyuan, with the breeze low on the Buddha, surrounded by flowers and butterflies, and the four-leafed leaves were looking for strange stories. That is a piece of four-leaf Gesang. Those who pray, please prepare your confession, be deeper, do not plan the story of your loss, and do not tell your wishes. If you don't look back, don't lose it. The ups and downs of youth along the way. It was a piece of four-leaf Gesang, desolate in the dream frost of December. Don't say too many nonsense, just like changing an adjective to modify it, and bringing up the old things again.