堇年__语录（Pansy __）.docVIP

堇年__语录（Pansy __） The bed is the grave of youth. Because we are so easy to walk into other peoples halo and shadow, foolishly noisily, and firmly believe that this is our own merit and value. And I have quietly insisted that I can portray the antagonism between the ideal and the reality as far as I can, as well as the cold and hope of the deep inventory in my heart, and the compromise. True and true. Youth, my lovely youth. We are all right or wrong, we all love but forget. You cried when you left. I just hurt but I laughed. I want to quote a word that has been said many times, the warmth of my life is so much, all give you, tell me how to smile again later. There are some things that are truly casual and complete. Some people are really unexpected. No matter what kind of body god gave me, I have been playing for seventeen years, and some of them have been engraved in the scenery along the way. I learned the lies learned the lies learned the silence learned the perseverance. The joy of tossing and turning crumbled into a glass of glass, and I stood in the wind and swept them into the darkest corners of my heart. No more. With that bright and bright smile, the soul is thin and the shadow loiters. Strong is everywhere. So if you have the misfortune to take on yourself, comfort yourself sometimes, you will not be strong and you will be strong. We are not eligible to be upset, and we can write about happiness. Stranger, at the end of a pile is pale and dark white ashes to seed, how many weak human will to retain thick BoZang regret, on the end of sadness and melancholy dirge, for the silence of the statue of a solitary under the green stone soul to write a to affection of the so-called mourning? And this world, between the death of the dead, how many remains of the uncold soul of the dead, but in the world no longer a trace of remembrance. I stood in the wind, and the broom swept the scattered glass near the darkest corner of my heart. The wind blew through the holes. On