Love is a little tempted:
Green and green, leisurely in my heart; But for your sake, I've thought it over.
Love is a tacit understanding:
Without Cai Feng's wings, it is impossible to be Qi Fei in fly with me; The heart is like a soul, and the feelings are the same.
Love is a chance encounter;
On the seventh day of autumn dew and autumn, it is time to meet, mostly those who are together in the world, but the appearance of husband and wife.
Love is an agreement:
You should be a rock and I should be a reed; Puwei is as tough as silk, and the rocks are not transferred.
Love is an oath:
The mountain has no edges, and heaven and earth blend together, but dare to break with you!
Love is an imagination:
I hope people will live for a long time and have a good scenery thousands of miles away.
Love is a kind of persistence;
I don't regret that my belt is getting wider and wider, which makes people haggard for Iraq.
Love is a kind of loyalty;
Once the sea was difficult for water, except Wushan, not clouds.
Love is a farewell;
Holding hands and looking at each other, tears swirled in my eyes until there were no words at last, and a thousand words stuck in my throat and I couldn't say it.
Love is a kind of watch;
There is also a small peach and plum garden, leaving flowers for you to return.
Love is a wisp of missing;
People who want to miss them collect more, and Mix red beans have attracted people's attention.
Love is a trace of melancholy;
Spring is the same, people are empty, and tears are red and sad.
Love is a perfect match;
A beautiful and virtuous woman is a good spouse of a gentleman.
Love is a sigh:
Although Meng Shan is here, it is hard to trust Jin Shu.
Love is a kind of comfort:
If two kinds of feelings last for a long time, it's still a matter of time.
Love is a response:
You want to send me a peach, and I want to give it back to Qiong Yao.
Love is a kind of sorrow;
The earth endures, and the sky endures; One day both will end, and this endless sadness will last forever.
Love is a kind of melancholy;
A sad mood, a cable that I haven't seen for years. No! No! No!
Love is a kind of resentment;
The Tatar's songs are on her jade guitar, and the grievances are discussed in the songs.
Love is an obsession;
Ah, there is love in life, and love is in the depths of madness. This is not irrelevant to hate-the wind overhead, the moon in the sky.
Love is a kind of nostalgia;
It is expected that the heartbroken place will be broken every year, and the moonlit night will be short and rambling.
Love is a kind of confusion:
What is love in the world? It's killing me.
Love is an eternal swan song:
Silkworms in spring will weave until they die, and candles will drain the wick every night.
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