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In My Dreams

In My Dreams

dream is cool.


Night, leaf GuiYing, tori month. The strings of the breeze to round, shallow memory, get drunk, and hurried away, leaving only the melancholy like like a pipe dream, like fate, uncertain. Perhaps, first met under all of the flowers, life in suzhou, separation is carve patterns or designs on woodwork corridor corner of the breeze, count the prosperous alexander hera wedding.

Sometimes, the same month China blows the time's shadow. Write, the meditation. Thin cool, I think, in my memory, whether or not, there is a handsome boy, at that time, nutmeg trees, spring flowers, my childhood, his name is sweethearts.

Leaders of several cups of childhood moonlight, whether, will remember you once? On a few pages of Yellow Book, whether, will also retain your keypad? China during the month fell from between the branches, playing catkin, as if, once again, see you, the month of fife engaging youngalexander hera pre wedding.

When the spring flowers bloom in the field, double yan have not title to new mud. Flowing water, from the flowers in the valley, such as sound PeiHuan. You cane straw shoe, I then light garment unlined upper garment, wander between the mountains and waters, dyed flowers. Flower rain falls, the breeze, adjusting the dance, however, fell into the who's dream after all. Distant place, wet with the rain lane, wave oscillation heart, dream is cool.

Angelica goose rings in the sky, red leaves have dye through the mountains. Jian Jia flying, whose eyes, still in circulation in the lake? Who OARS away, a smile is still floating in the ears, in the light of the setting sun, landscape as the solidification time. The lake is not cool, boat reflecting the back, with your attire. Who missing is still in the rain on the green flagalexander hera pre wedding, like a dream.

The depths of the time, if meet, you a sword and exquisite, with the horse, with I wish. Through the mountains, only to find the dream shadow.

The depths of the time, if meet, you a white, cream China do dye, iii with attachment, softly light book thousand feet, only pursuit of spirit in the wind.

Time, time light wounds. The wind blows your hair, you say, in the coming year, the spring flowers, come back, is it?

The depths of the time, if met, js mi ammy not away from, David pact kuo?
PR

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