【This word twist, big dream three thousand】
Author: QingJuke
Whimper, another night! The flowers are always so delicate, and the youth look out the window to see the vastness of the starry sky. It seems that the mulberry field has passed away, and it seems to be the year of expectation. The other shore will go, the blossoming is coming, the dream of the new life, the distant thoughts...
A dusty and chaotic, the most important thing is a "love" word twisted back, sighing alone, life is at ease.
Cold lights on the paper, pear blossom rain slightly cool. The wind and snow are reincarnated, and the sorrow is also cruel. It is not only those who do not know who come, it is convenient to yearn for infinity - never to believe; where there are any years to look back, what is the deep affection; since ancient times, the most cannot be retained is affection, how many things have been slapped back since ancient times; things are not human, the world is sangtian, the fishing ground is three more, and the two ends are empty! Infinite acacia memories, bright and pure streamers of the moon. A big dream, full of mountains and rivers, sad spring waves under the bridge. Ice heart to water, witch clouds to cover the moon, apes to cry tears, amorous empty hatred...
A mortal dust wound, a word of bone, the most emotional, self-worrying and self-disturbing. It is said that the three lives are fortunate, and the most tragic thing is to meet the person who returned with the same way. However, the origin of the dust, the fate of the unrelated, where so much affection! Biased romantic wind, loss of objective integrity, self-extraordinary, deep like a deep abyss - often said: the undersea moon is difficult to become the person in front of the eyes, the flower blooms alone for four seasons; and the moon in the sky does not look like the sweetheart, a flower is difficult to bloom for four hours. Looking back, if the love is long, towards the twilight galaxy, the human world passers-by. In the world, there are also hundreds of witty interpretations.
The people I think of, separated from that far away place, sleep at night, thinking, remembering, and the past pouring in. First acquaintance, long brewing, the accumulation of the essence, a retrospective, the old man, the exquisite dice into the lovesickness. Re-acquaintance, desire to know the king, long life without end. Do you not know that if the text is better than the quality, it is vain; if the quality is better than the text, it is vulgar. The length and short are dwarfed, the heights and the bottom are inclined, and they are self-inflicted and self-inflicted. Final knowledge, the prosperous years are out of reach, the rivers and seas are shallow and the clouds are light, the rest of the life cannot be traced, and the afterlife is unswerving until death...
The ephemera on the lonely boat slowly obscured, and the dazedness of the four sides was desolate. Chaos is a "neat" correction that breaks the old dream, but no longer the shouts and wanderings of the past. A cup of dirt, three drunks, the remaining six of them to pursue the infinite "bloom", a flick of the finger, the dispatch will go...
Night Book, Small and Big Theory - There is nothing in the original, where to stir up dust. The weeds are also full of weeds, and the thoughts are repetitive; the dead are miserable, and the flow of youth and self-hatred. One step at a time, as it is. The gully is self-embedding, unchanging and boundless; the heart is at peace with itself, waiting for the old dream year.
-Biography-
Pilgrims. The ink is free, and the clouds are soothing. Strange flowers bloom, the world is clear.