The sound of the piano entered her eyes, and the ups and downs of the past dyed her eyes red. The wind is blowing, and the piano dust is flying, blurring the front.
My hair is messed up and my thoughts are flowing. I know Iraqis.
Thin shadow is like a dream, with beautiful eyes, intoxicating smile and dancing. Soul leads … people are crazy … strings break … dreams wake up … floating dust falls to the ground. The sound of the piano is still the same, the music ends, the red disappears and the fragrance is broken, leaning against Hua Zhong, people are drunk alone …
Only quotations, no poems.