For a foot covered with snow, it has been silent for a hundred years. The promenade is like a deep well, ringing with the initial questions. Snow-white hair, fluttering pale face, eyes on the dark sword at night, a piece of blood winding under the sword, Long song flowing with years.
There is a snow riddle of Cienta buried in the lonely well floating corridor, in which a person, a sword and a feeling are trapped.
He said, I forgot your face, but I can't forget it anyway. I only remember the scene where the flame burned your mutilated body. The bamboo flowers behind you are like snow, and your white shirt is flying like snow, like snow, like snow. Now, like snow, you are just cold and eating away at my temperature. I was trapped for many years, taking a step for you, but the day I stepped out, I fell into a trap.
There is blood everywhere, full of inexplicable feelings. People who sit under the stone pavilion for a long time listen to the silent snowflakes falling. The years that have been stagnant for a long time are pleasantly surprised and flowing because of a death.
The mysterious wind hides behind the mask, revealing bright dawn, reflecting crystal snow everywhere, and the scenery is like a dream, shocking the eyes of newcomers.
Step into the snow and slowly look at the white flowers in the valley. Wandering, falling, flowing between sleeves, light flowers flying all over the sky.
The floating gallery is full of wind and the flowers are fluffy. He fell asleep on the flowers, like a staccato poem, urging him to stop in the dark.
Fish notes infinite hate, but books are empty. Trust each other, only know Du Kang. The old friend is far away, the old friend is still there, and the old friend is far away and lingering. He looked at the fragrant barrel in front of him, and his eyes were astringent.
Regret is a lingering rhyme. When it's over, it can't stop remembering.
There is a unique beauty in this world, which only exists between the eyes. Two people chase their eyes with their eyes, draw a ray of light, hook it for a while, turn it into an undercurrent, and impulse it into a struggle to see through and be seen through.
That white butterfly, flying lightly, stopped in your palm and flew away. Because of the softness of this moment, it misunderstood the outside temperature, and out of the dark realized that everything was blind.
He also said that I don't know how many years later, when I looked at the past space, there was only an unremarkable lamp, and the bones of the dead were reflected everywhere. I can only be in the world, listening to the blood of time, living just waiting for the final death, desecrating the high altitude outside the dark place, and blue makes me sick.
Restart the past, burn the memory, still can't fade. The state of first frost at ordinary times can't cool the surging mood.
Half my life, I have been trapped in my heart and always want to fly away. When the cage was annihilated overnight, I suddenly realized that this cage was not a bundle of idleness, but a fetter of the world. This ink sword is a testimony of emotion. When everything is gone, the hand holding the sword can do nothing. Sword and man are easy to heal, but difficult to manage. In the past, people held swords because some people trusted them very much. Now, what is the purpose of holding a sword?
Memories floating in the cloister, butterfly dreams fleeting, snow after snow, can't tell where to kill time today.
There are three kinds of snow melting sounds in this world. In the past, I could only hear the sound of breaking and disappearing, but now my ears are constantly echoing with the third tone of melting snow, which is a feeling of being very dizzy. Every time it peels off, it will arouse the echo in my heart.
Snow blooms, floating corridors are sad. If this flower is your incarnation, I can meet you again as long as I wait for bloom, and I will never allow myself to lose this hope again! You once said that the wind will take the most important sentence in a person's life into the valley of the wind and hide it. When someone dies, the wind will put this sentence in the wind and let the living look for the past in the wind. I have been listening for a long time, but I haven't heard from you. Are you lying to me?
The cuckoo wants to melt, but it still mourns, and the stork will die, leaving its wings strong. This scene is both sad and beautiful, accompanied by the heaviness of stopping in the chest. One person, two pairs of shadows, fell in the burning smoke.
Floating galleries are cold, familiar red shadows are entangled, and erased memories remain in the depths of snow. ...
A flower cherishes the moon,
Send lovesickness by language.
Divided into two words,
Do Iraqis know?
After several years of solidification, the snow melted at dawn. A hundred years of interest, forever falling!
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