Ten years of life and death are so vast that I cannot forget them without thinking about them. Thousands of miles of lonely tomb, nowhere to say desolation. Even if we meet, we should not know each other, our faces are covered with dust and our temples are like frost.
At night, I suddenly returned home from a deep dream. I was dressing up outside the small window. They looked at each other without words, only a thousand lines of tears. It is expected that the broken heart will be cut off every year, on a bright moonlit night, there will be short pines.
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