How many a dance of life in the mood, nutmeg, and I'm...! ?
Bitter is not the past, but the memory... Looking back the intravenous drip, the memory is like an hourglass, with the passage of time, the sand is something to a final, in the hands grip is a breeze and the oneself had blow dry eye staining.
Every day in the life experiences, suffering a dream in reality waste every day, I feel lonely, only in the mirror of their own to know his heart!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Memory, is a kind of pain, dull pain, don't often come to, lingering. Memory, is a kind of, deep and eternal painful, not often, but still profound! Thought, with the passage of time, the pain, such as that of yuhua will pass. But, I will still be in a casual, like the wind through the heart, such as a knife clear!!!!!
Memories, from exhaustion, but don't know very pain! It has already entered the blood, tore heart crack lung...
Away for so long was finally woke up from a dream, understand that the willing to give up!!!!! Willing, and give to get, that to get the true happiness is to put down!!!!! But I always thought giant, action runt...
Pain is not the past, but memory! My memories, only occasional moment appeared in the corners of the mouth that a wry smile, of canthus that a drop of tears, that a helpless, say to yourself: smile forget it...
Dry the last fall, and the tears yesterday with don't, say to yourself, hate, is history...
When the familiar and unfamiliar cities become no longer natural, I know, the only thing to do is to let go of his hand. Say to yourself: past...
But why? Whenever the entire city is asleep, memory, he would still so ruthless let tears rolled down my cheeks. In.
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