The street was quiet in the cold winter, I was here, lying on the nostalgic nostalgia and thinking about the vague things like a romantic fool. The weather is no longer gloomy, suddenly remembered for a few nights in the dark room, just sit there, looking out the door is so many clouds are foggy salty but slightly sigh. However, sometimes I also pondered, if only I could be drunk the burning of her Lower, or love the beauty of her East knows how much! How many lives do you have? Why do you have to choose a piece for yourself?
I really admire those who can always coexist with the space that is usually full of time. Some people can drink the essence of summer even though the sun is burning as fire. Some people may be lost in the street, beside the light of the late night light, calm and cold, but kissing on the ceiling of the snow and ice of winter. Or when the wind is cold, everything needs to be paired as well as the lonely craving cravings, a hot smoke. Or when the frost stretches over each foot, the dry furs like to crawl all the way but patted the thin coat, lips trembling. Still, there are always people who walk alone, step into the singing season, singing in breath, wind ...
