lojmikak
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 Wysłany: Pią 9:13, 15 Paź 2010 Temat postu: Religion jeans Red in the past, I promise you put |
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Red in the past, I promise you put pen to paper picturesque
<div class=\Were a little drunk on the branches, deeper shadows on the ramp Yelan. Fragrant ink through the screens rhyme, silly words Acacia Fu dip.
quietly on children stay on the branches, through the window Xuan, gentle to broken pieces of a cast Silverlit. Like the moonlight in this quiet meditation, like a night filled with such tenderness that I had missed the sound obsessed. Night to, his thoughts are fleeting, wandering soul under the night. Repeated back to the first night, your mind will be on a soft corner in my heart, long to 氲 magic emanation.
cozy warmth of the sun that year, is a people feel in lilac season. You say: I am wearing a purple dress, is in bloom. On the language, the hide of laughter Yingying, water, gentle tenderness. That summer, I write a lot for your beautiful words, some impact will be in Hong gentle swaying words, they like my love, lukewarm and rich. I realized at that time, the original, and some words can be magic for the style, and can freeze your shadow, precipitation for the I, tempting tenderness. So, I carefully guarding the joy of these gentle shallow, rippling voiceless.
then, is how I wish you could see me through my words of love overflowing ah!
you're not, but the silent smile, or you just do not find anything, what is behind those words.
slowly flowing time, rushed over the years, but knowledge of where to place the heart to where should the? Sing a sad song and for whom? Who lost in the emotional world, so lonely tears cemented with ice cream, frozen into my heart that touch of constancy of the loss? Tortuous in the smoke of the past, do the years into a note, in that band to band elegant passing. The depths of solitude, which has kept quiet sigh, when scattered in the increasingly pale.
because the scattered Love life, and take you by my sub-things. Across the long and arduous journey, across the weather be hot. Slow trance-like long-lasting a century. Too much too full of thoughts,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], the ups and downs in the ups and downs in the years to come, gradually pale, and slowly wither. Piled into the soft sand, scattered like mist elimination. Extend the time depths, is a little sad,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], a little wistful. Actually slowly compare notes with, burnout gloomy upsurge.
miss can not heal when it was read to retrieve those yellowed Sujian thin, suddenly shocked to find that,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], in every Juanxiu words a subtle, graceful gorgeous Johnson has your shadow. They seem to tell me, One day a certain date, you have to stay here too compliant. The memo circulated aged taste, and your hair smell of incense,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], has been unknown to me in your world, free, loss, and not self.
Thereafter, it Sansei III promises, has become the treasure of the burden, just like the dark souls, buried deeply, the more fear. In a lot of time has been hard to tell that melancholy temperament, in the end is in whom Sorrow? Life is a mood, happiness is a feeling, but it is a comfortable and happy. The days of pain and happiness, could be so pious and desolate. Recall of all, the crash of introspective, shaking a Qing Ji.
endless watch, the dark night light. Qingsi cut, but cut right through the heavy Acacia. So lonely and strong, not survive the long night, End of the World can not stop the thoughts. Tired heart, but also broken a few times? Empty eyes, you can also shed many tears? The quiet depths of despair, how many heavy sadness hidden? I know that the so-called forever the highest power, but a fleeting illusion. How, the day will be drought, to be old? The sea will dry stone will bad? No, not ... ... just, but I have no way to find faded return date.
However, the idea of settling down and lonely and silent. I do not know when to fly to the face of years and bewildered sense of relaxation, self-willed land planted in the writing world anxiety. Perhaps when they die, you can still send using frail shadow hanging hopes to meet with the color next spring. Then, perhaps, his home life, are those who understand what the text leaves the hot kind of inspiration of youth, but can take a calm gaze,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], feel the sorrows and joys of life gains and losses. Success or failure of dispute, the final wave, does not matter.
time continues, I wonder if there is a road to do the time. Perhaps, in another early morning, a drop of dew dripping lightweight, wet Biduan verse my memory with a note attached to turning points, extending to the River, in that alley, you put pen to paper picturesque!
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