The fragrance of plum in the distance blooms with endless thoughts

Mondo Culture Updated on 2024-03-05

The sun never sets plan

The place where the dream begins.

Bloom a plum blossom.

It has a unique fragrance.

Colored hearts.

Scribbled colorful.

Let the memory stay in winter.

The smoke and dust of a past.

Rolled up mixed tastes.

The heart gave birth to wings.

The wild birds that fly.

How many secrets are hidden.

Transformed into a burden of the day.

It's my moving footsteps.

A heavy bag on your back.

Can't get out of the dusty memories.

Sluggish brain.

Lost for a winter.

The deepest kiss goodbye.

Falling tears.

It is the fragrance of the plum in the distance.

Blooming endless thoughts.

It's a parting after the play.

A clown's endorsement.

Flying letterhead was left behind.

Falling rain in the sky.

Gray loneliness.

The melancholy in my heart drifted away.

Can't get out of the heavy self-blame.

Look at the sky in the distance.

Rising my fantasies.

Packed bags.

Left behind at the Red Dust Inn.

A sad heartache.

Embark on a journey far away.

To find that lost love.

But he dropped the memories of this life.

Intertwined psychic trajectories.

It was raining in a daze.

Can't get out of the fragrant dream.

Lost one trip at a time.

The car at the starting point is traveling.

* The original vow.

The days flew by.

Scattered with memories of three lives and three lives.

Running in the heart.

Thousands of lines of tears are written.

But forgot all the means of communication.

A man runs on a deserted street.

A world of snowflakes.

Wrapped in my soft dreams.

Everything was so quiet.

Ren Fengxue's eyes moistened.

Years of memory are a blizzard.

The same snowflakes are falling.

Whitened complex psychology.

Pure whiteness is a separation.

Snowflakes fall on the Red Dust Inn.

Fell on two lonely hearts.

tells the sleepless state of the world.

Scattered with the lies of middle-aged people.

Provoked lamps.

It's gray in the snow.

The loneliness of being scattered in the crowd.

It is a depressed soul.

I do not know. The sorrow of the snowflakes that year.

In this wanton snowstorm.

Found the long-lost indifference.

The snow is still falling.

Drifted away from helpless heartache.

It is the point in time when the bell rings in the distance.

Knocked on the hurried footsteps of a man.

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