People in this way, will become one another or a person
A human being. When I look up at the sky shipping line, a birthday song, the candle flickered, relatives and neighbors and old ones new friends, share cake of sweet alcohol, happiness is like a wave from streams. It was your birthday night, blessing a full day. This ocean of happiness, surrounded the city with warm, happy open like a flower in your face, in that city, I looked into the city, I can only lone lonely looking city. Feel cool windowsill, agree, agree, Jeremy Bentham wet sleeve Buy World Of Warcraft Gold, has its own city is actually an empty city, a man of gucheng.
While in the blessing of night, the happy woman, beautiful as a Princess, flower-like bright, sweet as sucrose. Open the window, let the wind come in, let the city no longer empty, make the night the same sweet, let dream fly for a while. Brewing a pot of tea, warm heart under, in fact, the city is not available, temperature of the tea to the heart. Then, ask yourself, one night, how to give you my blessing? A city, so distances measured by heart, erratic stars of the night sky, candles, black is a person.
People in this way, will become one another or a person's a person, a city, in one direction, where there are birthday song, gucheng look out for you, me, for you.
In a Word. Acquaintances, said Buddhist-related, with these remarks, seem language spent, let the Buddha has said ever becomes inevitable, even if there is no qianbaihui. The bars should be the words of the Buddha, despite looking to become the only wanted to read, and then we kind of laughed, Buddha, also smiled. This sentence, so how many people laugh, but also how many people are crying, so we smile, laugh is independent of the Buddha, the Buddha also can't control many, because laugh is no reason to. Alone against the desk I, heart laughs, window, nebulae or giggling. Remembered, in that there is no star night, you looked at me, saying a Word, it's your birthday, a day later than I. Yellow leaves are turning red season, Buddha was scratch the shoulder by two meteors in the fall, comes to a river at both ends. One in the upper reaches of cailian, a fish in the lower. Lotus, drifting to bottle lamps, there you flushed cheeks, I bow wood on the night of cooking wine, and fragrant, it does not. Now now, your remark, is also written in the petals of the Lotus, flowers in all my stranded fishing boat, fishing boat dock of the Bank, my town full of Autumn Chrysanthemum, one cool windowsill
