Alone by the railing, the fog locks the heavy building. Sighing that the stars have passed away last night, the beauty of the past is difficult to find, ask how many encounters in the world, like flowers? And how many partings, like flowers falling? Gently open that mottled fan

Alone by the railing, the fog locks the heavy building. Sighing that the stars have passed away last night, the beauty of the past is difficult to find, ask how many encounters in the world, like flowers? And how many partings, like flowers falling? Gently opening the dappled window, in a trance, the scene was so real and ethereal, I tried to tiptoe up, but I couldn't find the intersection when I came, and I couldn't tell the direction of the way forward, so I had to walk alone in the red dust silently.

"It seems that this star is not last night, for whom the wind is shining in the middle of the night." How can we forget that for this love rush, we are so righteous, and the souls that depend on each other have also occupied each other's hearts. Who knew that just one turn was two worlds, and only a pale patch was left. Who was who ever? Who's watchful? After all, it is a finger of quicksand. "Knowing that the mountain has been cut off, it is not free to rely on the dryness of the frequent." From the initial encounter of amazing time, to the gentle years of keeping, and finally turning into a string of teardrops slipping, how much helplessness? And how many sighs?