Winter | I want to hear your story with the snow

The pigeons in the church do not kiss crows.

Only seagulls can answer the story of the sea.

Belated sunlight cannot save withered flowers.

The fireworks were beautiful.

But when you come across the same beautiful moon

But there was a strange sound.

The stars are small.

But when you come across the beautiful moon

But they mirror each other.

Perhaps, crows are neither pretty.

Nor can it be compared to the white pigeon.

Identity is inappropriate.

Nothing bad about being cute.

The wrong person is a person who thinks and comments on other people's bad love rashly.

Love is colorful.

Pigeons and crows are here.

It must be white.

I didn't delete the photos, just encrypted them.

I didn't lose anything, just put them in a big box.

And you, I haven't forgotten, I've got you sorted out.

Become those love songs.

Enter the sleepless night.

Smell the plum blossoms and the wind, and the snow piles are all over the four mountains.

The north wind swept the white grass to the ground, and the snow flew in August.

Thousands of miles of yellow clouds and daylight, the north wind blows geese and snow.

The horizontal flute smelled no one, and the red flag went straight up to the snow of the Tianshan Mountains.