About foam

This life is attached, the third life is not awake. Bubble-like conventions only leave beautiful fantasies in the end. The foam is so beautiful, so illusory and so difficult to let go through the folding color of sunshine. Just like her name Xia Mo. The smell of lavender flavor, exudes in the breath of spring, but with the smell of summer, her smile. Love is painful. Lonely glaze harp, lonely beauty new clothes. If a little candle is a little bit of tears, leaving a fantasy, it will only hurt more in the end. I only sigh that floating life is like a dream, and only teach a person to be crazy. The gray sky is so beautiful, through the sky of birch forest, a promise under Silver Birch. Xia Mo, remember? Under Silver Birch, you and I promise a lifetime. You said I am a person in a fairy tale world, and you also said I am your fairy tale book. Now, this fairy tale world has been lonely with glaze harp, and this birch forest has been lonely. I am left alone to recall our past quietly, leaving the last story of that fairy tale book. On the gray East Street Road, your smile is as bright as flowers, and your plain face is still like autumn wind. Now, you are already away, and I am alone walking on this gray ancient road. Do you still remember our agreement. By the way, you will remember, because you are Xia Mo, the smile in my heart. There are beautiful people in the North, who are immortal and independent. Once we look at the city of people and then the country of people, we don’t know the city of people and the drop-dead gorgeous. It is difficult to get beautiful people any more. Through thousands of years of waiting, will you come again? My summer foam, are you still there? I want to hold your hand tightly and feel the tenderness you give me. Leave a cup of clear wine, which makes me drunk in the mist. You and I are separated by time and space, like a dream smoke, can’t see your outline, can’t touch your heartbeat, Cold Dew wet my heart, as time flies, if it is smoky and rainy, don’t forget the dust when it is raining. The picture of holding hands and following hands flashed in my eyes. I stretched out my hand, but you disappeared like a bubble. I want to say goodbye to the past, and I want to pass by with my injury. However, the trace of looking back is destined to be my loss at night, reading you. Bubble-like conventions are so beautiful, but so confused. Xia Mo, I wish the third generation would not wake up, in exchange for this life attachment. Hua xiaonuo QQ543679624

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