The so-called love is like a besieged city of Acacia. Once appointed, it will be guarded without hesitation. But in love, there is always something to make people sigh unceasingly, in the face of shocking love, sometimes so prohibitive. It's like dancing on the tip of a knife and walking on thin ice. It makes people shudder. Love is originally very beautiful, but once it is touched to the bottom line, it is like the water that burst the dike, and the flood of waterfalls is difficult to clean up.
It is said that love is sweet and happy, but once the color of love is lost, it will make people regret that it was impossible to be gentle before, but like tearing a face, leaking the so-called hidden face, ferocious and unrecognizable. It is said that paper can contain fire, but the reality is not so, you will be very painful and depressed in the real love, just like carrying the heavy burden of love every day, gritting your teeth, like breaking through the tight encirclement, walking forward.
Just like who cries on the wall of the night, after enduring endless blows, he still does not forget the beautiful moment of love. Like the low-flying bird, passing through the shade of the night incense, its wings seemed heavy when it almost hit the stream, and pulled up again, like ripples in the stream and rippled dewdrops flying from the stream to splash down on the trees on the bank. It was like the murmuring groans and shortness of breath coming from the next wall, and I was like a habitual criminal eavesdropping in a beautiful dream, and those few minutes of crime gave me endless intoxication and the lingering dreams.
The fence of love is always woven by itself, and the scenery in the garden is always drawn by itself. Just like the colorful butterflies flying all over the garden, I just can't catch one. Good lonely feelings, good sad feelings, like pushing and accumulating in a dream, pushing more and more. All the branches are like running away. I can only wait and see and think. It's like standing on the high platform of a dream at night, thinking that the fine figure of that night blossoms on the hibiscus, which reminds me to think like a cage.
Turning one person into another is like metabolism happening all the time, the mercury poison has invaded the internal organs, and in the remnants of the dream, the mutinous internal organs and hidden flesh are scattered in the fat of the dream, just like my price howling in the night, turning around in the run, not knowing where the clothes have gone, and unable to say a word of exclusion in the unguarded body.
Just like the cells of dreams are making faces, you sleep in dreams, and when you are surprised, you see purity, like the legacy of the ancient law, that is, your crystalline body and pleasant-smelling wealth. The match of your dream is always in the box of your dream, and you seem to be taking it out and lighting it. You see the fire of love around the box of your dream, and you can't even put it out. I am a part of the box, burning by love.
The forest, the trees and the grass of love are listening to the gracefulness of the birds. From noisy to trance, as if given in secret love, an orange love is thus rescued. Arable land, barren and concrete water are all planned in the subconscious, from the bare hills to the rugged mountains, there is still small and inward love crying. The rain elephant is named here, and it goes on and on under the painting of the outer air.
A bird knows what singing is and can dance the original dance to the most intimate lover before it is awakened and called back. Just like in the dance it holds a fragrant carnation flower, singing in your ears, so meticulous in exchange for the beautiful you.
You seem to close your eyes and fall into a beautiful fog. Jump out of the palm of your dream hand, you see a beautiful courtyard, a tree Bodhi, and a shadow of the tower, and you gently close the lilies like the other hand, ah! The fragrance of the flowers flew all over the roof, out of the window. The image is slowly gradual, but it still never disappears, just like the beautiful warmth is still there, I am like riding a horse in a dream, chasing the rain on the beautiful grassy slope.
Author: puffer fish
Post a comment