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Years of writing and making books, the world into a book

Years of writing and making books, the world into a book

【Writing books in the flow of years, the world into a book]

Text: Falling snow stains dust

Looking up to see that the moon is very round, I checked the calendar, it is fifteen days. The moon stars are rare, the wind is light and the night is deep, falling on the sky, stained with a large frost white. The last time I saw it was a long, long time ago that I can't remember. I always feel that the winter months are brighter than other times.

The bright moon and the story are more compatible with the people in the quiet of the night. The pen holder knocks on the table, and unconsciously passes the time, the sleepless night and the endless song are regulars. I invited them to make a fuss about the night.

Years of writing and making books, the world into a book

A line of white paper books, not a moving story, only copied such a sentence: "The years are quiet for a moment, a place of chicken feathers is a daily life, even if the world is occasionally thin and cold, the heart should be prosperous and brocade." ”

The days are ordinary and often mediocre, the taste of candy is mixed with chili peppers in the mouth, sweet and spicy mixed with half, eyebrows half wrinkled and half comfortable. It also occasionally fell into a drizzle, and soon dissipated into the warm sun.

It's life and it's the norm.

Ben is an idle person, and he is too lazy to open his eyes to see the trivial things. Perhaps more moved by the winter sunset, and the morning frost, and finally get a cheesy evaluation: good-looking.

Years of writing and making books, the world into a book

Floating for half a day, stealing a little joy, writing the flow of years into a book, and the world into a book.

I am not a poet, but I also prefer to write day after day, not good, not too bad. The stories written are messy, there are food and scenery, and there is nothing compared to you.

Thanks, there is still a bright moon beside and the breeze listening.

Author: Falling snow stained dust

A person who is accustomed to memories, a person who is accustomed to not being able to put it down, a red dust passerby who is upside down and displaced. Three thousand passers-by, ten zhang red dust, meeting you is fate, thank you for your liking.

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