If you take a bite of an apple, the flesh inside will gradually turn brown over time. If you take another bite, you will find that the inside is still pure white.
My existence is a permanent miracle to me. This is life.
Just because I say bad words does not mean that I am a bad boy. If I tell the truth, it does not mean that I am a good boy. If I do not speak, it does not mean that I am a stupid boy.
I dropped a pearl in my trembling palm, like goose-yellow tears dripping from the sea.
I am between the waves and the green shade, dreaming of fighting the wind and snow.
Those who want to separate us with a Milky Way don’t know that between the shining stars and the enthusiastic children under the grape trellis, every night is Chinese Valentine’s Day.
As a result, everyone who walked here was infected with nameless lovesickness.
If you are not afraid of the ends of the earth, how can you live day and night? You are on my voyage and I am in your sight.
Your unwritten poems grace the harbor of every heart.
The sunshine, like a snake, swims at the base of the cold wall.
I don’t know when, the shadows of passers-by turned into rows of rocks.
Farewell to eyes like new leaves. The inner stage is empty.
In the fragile silence, dreaming half-consciously.
Even if everything has happened, I am used to not crying anymore.
The water is very cool and quiet, allowing the chaotic clouds and clouds to lie there, pure and pure.
Wake up and sleep in the picture where you want to be clear and confused.
When I sigh, I suddenly borrow your hand and wither,
Only snow sings endlessly on the distant wires.
The ticking of the desk clock ravaged the body of the dream.
The walnut tree under the window shivered loudly, as if it had been touched by a cold hand.
The golden bees in the final light are fragrant and stinging in the heart.
Who smelled the smell of autumn first? In the south, even the leaves don’t know the smell of autumn.
The woman with her bun in a bun walking up the stairs in the deep alley looked a little lonely, because the sunlight suddenly seemed like a dim glance.
No need to check the calendar, I had the beginning of autumn eight years ago.
Look down on us from eternity.
You can conquer the sky again, but still have to return to the feet of the people.
Don’t look back, there is only the heavy universe behind you.
Arthur went to the cross and became Jesus when he came down, but that happens only once in two thousand years.
Just one silhouette can captivate a city or a country.
Falling from He Chaozong’s fingers, the smooth and round piece of wisdom water has been passing through for thousands of years, and it is especially warm.
The footprints left on the beach and the sails raised to the sky have all been buried secretly by the waves.
In this world, there is the pain of sinking and the joy of awakening.
The strongest protest, the bravest honesty, is to stay alive and speak.
I am at my latitude, but I am dreaming of a migratory bird.
My sorrow is the sorrow of migratory birds. Only spring understands this love.
I suddenly felt that I was a fallen leaf, lying in the dark heavy soil, and the wind was holding a funeral ceremony for me. I waited peacefully, and the green and furry dream got the first glimmer of life from me.
I am looking for spring, new leaves, and flowers in the wilderness, in the mist. At dawn, the cold fog cleared, and all I found was a puddle of decayed grass and a sleeve of cold wind.
Imagine that you are surrounded by the sea and you are the flag.
The night gave me black eyes, but I used them to look for light
Only the shadow understands, only the wind can understand, and only the colorful butterflies that startled with sighs are still flying in the flowers of my heart.
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I believe that everything is a seed, and only after being buried can it come to life.
When I came back, my eyebrows were white and the desert turned into a green world.
The water droplets magnified the sunset for a moment.
You look at me for a while and look at the clouds for a while. I feel that when you look at me, I am far away, but when you look at the clouds, they are very close.
Nothing else, just hope that the grass can extend its shadow.
The passionate love of candles condensed into a shooting star.
Qingming, the lavender wind trembles.
The shrub traces tiny patterns on its forehead
I will shake my transparent wings and disappear in a fairy tale.
The creek, forgetting the road sign, fell to pieces in a burst of smiles.
We fell asleep in our palms, like birds, dreaming about each other, surrounded by blue air and fluttering yellow leaves in autumn.
The dream is too deep. You have no feathers, and your life cannot measure the depth of death.
Only the moon is left, beside our lips, illuminating the unfamiliar path.
After the soul is quiet, the blood will flow for many years.
Her blood, as pure as rubies, will sparkle on the broken grass stems. On her forehead, the breath of roses floated.
The grass behind the wall will no longer grow. It only touches the sunlight with its fingers.
That summer is still dragging on, and that voice has stopped.
The sea water is free. It has passed through many temples before it gained the color of the sky.
In the last spring, purple is still so timid, and golden is still so melancholy.
Between candles and candles, a cruel dawn shines.