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The wind blew my
#1
The wind blew my thoughts and left again. But I don��t know when and when I can��t help. I can ask who can put this inexplicable slogan? Since ancient times, there have been too many ignorances, but who can achieve real dissatisfaction? Who is away from home and who is not in love? Taste, as the saying goes: There is no banquet in the world, which can stay in this breeze, it comes to come, say go and leave, no one can stay... who is not a family At that time, let the night wind blow through the Xiaoxuan window; let the stars in the sky become thinner, let you blow through and become thin, but do you blow through my hatred? Can the stars and the moon really become thin? You are forever Can't understand the heart of the wanderer, why should you blow through and lose weight yourself! There used to be a road and a bumpy road. Now it has become a flat and long oil road. The road that was previously uneven is all high. The high number estimate now only sees the stump pile. Every time I go home, I am very excited, but no one can stay with me for a long time Carton Sale On Newports. I will eventually leave and go to a foreign country. In fact, I don't want to go anywhere, I stayed in the old capital. I love every inch of land here. I know that there is a lot of grass and wood here. Everything is familiar to me and becomes a part of my life. When I returned to my homeland again, it was already a weedy February day, and the trees were too cold to look at the sparse figure on the field (block). I always felt that something was missing. I looked at the ridiculous field in front of the door Wholesale Menthol Cigarettes, a few tall walnut trees, haystacks in front of the door, and the corner of the house was a silver thread plate. A dilapidated erhu, making a hoarse voice, he is no longer loud Duty Free Cigs Fast Delivery, but witnessed his life. Once dense Wholesale Newport Cigarette Store, he witnessed his sparseness, but he was helpless. The green and green moss on the stairs left traces of the years. I cares for every inch of land here, bricks and trees Carton Of Marlboro Reds Free Shipping, grass and trees, and the collapsed mud wall and the dilapidated old house. It used to be bustling, people come and go, now it��s empty and only memories . In the deepest, accessible places, they feel that they are spiritual and soulful, and they have never disappeared! "There are wines that are drunk today, and tomorrow is sad and sad." Who said no? Out of control. The wanderers are far away. Every night they have to see the broken jade plate, and the lonely star. With that single shadow, four people are alone and screaming... You can be good today, you are round, but what about tourists? Before the big guys got together, the guy was so busy! Listening to the music, enjoying the month, how good! But now the moon is no longer round, it can only be round, but it��s not a lifetime, but it��s a man in the end. Going to the sky, why do you want to make a gesture for the month! The tourists often live in uncertainty, wandering around, no one wants to do this, but who can stop it? The lonely night screams at the "hometown tonight, the millennium, frost Another year after tomorrow, "Who will go to the bustling of the once-dead, now it is full of silver, broken in the collapsed wall, broken stove, silver-lined spider web filled with the corner, The tiles and stone ladders that have been trained by the wind and rain have been covered with slippery moss, the traces of the years, the taste of the memory, how many people are talking and laughing on this land, talking and laughing, but they are all In the future, if you enjoy it, you will disappear. I went to a photo that had faded and it seemed to bring me a little bit of nostalgia. The hot noodle soup sold by the old grandfather at the end of the street is filled with the old backyard. The stray cat sleeps and shakes the swing, and the sunset shines over him. A rust-breaking lock, and a curtain with a carved pattern. On both sides of the narrow long aisle, the old house still raised smoke. I have been remembering which day of the year, a long and short period of time. I can��t go back now. The time that has passed away, the one that is gradually blurred in my hand, has become a signal of memories. I don��t know what I am. I can��t remember the look of the year. I can't see where I can't go. Perhaps the accent of the old street belongs to my sorrow, and the smile at the corner of my mouth is getting stronger and stronger. I don't know what I can't forget, I can't let go of the familiar clips, and I look back at it for many years. Looking at the sky through my fingers, I went back to the old street, leaning against you and drifting away
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