Soul

It was the night when the breeze gently rippled. On the Blue Lake, the tiny steps broke the ripples. The hazy past life gently wandered in the misty world of mortals, wandering in the shallow intersection where you were always there. Then do you still remember the moonlight that I accompanied you that night, and the light that poured down the ground. In the previous life, godliness kept a beautiful feeling; In this life, I promise you a tender feeling. Perhaps, in this way, your heart which is as numb as silk is lightly rubbed into your life and gradually into your dream. Therefore, I have no choice but to be willing to turn into a hint of breeze and always stay with you. Spring brings you the fragrance of soil, summer blows away the wisps of heat for you, and autumn brings you the joy of a beautiful harvest, in winter, drive away the coldness for you. Do you ever remember that every breeze is my yearning for you from day to day, and every feeling is my infatuated attachment waiting for you to dock at the Ferry of the world of mortals. The stranded past is sad and painful. If the fate comes and goes, you can also remember it in your heart or go with the flow. But the dim light of the memory was still rippling in my heart, and the hot tears burnt my eyes calmly. Will the wandering Sanskrit really fly in front of you like snow? Do you understand that this is really a real life without regrets? Can this sad sorrow and joy only be understood as a pain rather than a satisfaction? As for me, I can only fly into the dust again, and live on the top of the wind and smoke, waiting for you from afar until the dawn. The past is like smoke, and what I miss is always the deepest memory in my heart. Remember, I was in a mess when I passed you. Even though several generations have passed quietly, this dusty memory in the bottom of my heart is still unwilling to wipe away. Moreover, although the heart ping, which had been broken all over the land, was exhausted and faded at dusk, the Rainbow after the rain was still hanging in the sky of the soul. The withered hope left flowers all over the ground, and perhaps the blood and tears of the world of mortals soaked a beautiful flower of the soul. It is really good, maybe that flower should be called: Soul singer. Spring elimination snow

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