The reason why Beijing impressed the author is of course not the scenery and other reasons, but the fact that I once longed to wander with a beautiful woman who I thought was very good, and when I realized it for the first time, I will always remember that naturally this place is very high in my heart.

Photography in front of the Starbucks café, the difference is her smile, in the ice palace and the picture of the ice gourd, intertwined into a dreamlike reality scene.

The majestic Forbidden City in Beijing can't withstand the cold wind, trembling in the crowd and the slight sun, the smoke-loving communists, the quick inhalation in front of Tiananmen Square, stop in the moment, instantly become eternal, the author's eternity.

Watching the performance of the Golden Mask Dynasty is indeed very exciting, but what remains is the faint fragrance beside him. The corridors and tree shadows of the Summer Palace are no match for smiling faces.

The prayer or sacrifice of the Temple of Heaven is not important at all, the beauty of the sky is in front of the author's eyes, she is so charming. 798 Art District Square, a confused road, it can be seen that it is the same stupid, slow and frightened escorts, frozen hands, warm coffee, and greetings with travelers who are about to go to New York!

The strange food in the night market, the funny wooden cups and bowls, the ice lake in front of the bird's nest, and the happy time in front of the Great Wall are so fast, fast as a short dream, foamy jumping mood, I don't want to remember too much, just right, just repeat it occasionally.

It's good to want to keep more at every moment, it's really good, it's really good. I don't love Beijing, I don't love, I don't love, I don't love, I don't love Beijing, I don't love, I don't love, I don't love, I don't love Beijing, I don't love Beijing The heroine of the author's seventh love letter, the heroine, once traveled to Beijing with the author

Just like that, he fell into his own trap. Merge yourself but separate from yourself, probably because it is the incomprehensibility of love and fate, and you have confusion about which one you want to follow, and you can't guess it, and your prediction is not right, and the impact of this expression may catalyze your own character, and it may also blow down all your consciousness. It doesn't matter if it doesn't matter, in front of the universe, it's not as good as sand.

Time is in a daze, staring at it. Freezing. Only written on the gaze of the computer, through the computer, through the emptiness and nothingness, the most after waking up. Just listen to the sound of typing. There is also a rattling electric fan.

It's going to be set off after all. Like the Tao of the cosmic sand, it seems to be illusory, like reality, like a sad dream, and writes about the sadness that does not exist. It is difficult to distinguish between truth and falsehood when it leads to real sadness, that is the feeling of being wronged by words, a series of dance word suites, if it were not for her demonic body phantom phantom, the world world would not be so dazzling, it seems to tempt a leaf on a pine tree, and then fall down the fallen leaves, the fallen leaves are splendid, in the autumn, very self-conscious days.

Fantasia ferments in the silence of the small citizens of the world, the graceful slender legs that are ignored by fantasy, the beautiful eyes that thrive to capture the very good-looking lover's facial features, the heartache of happiness is extremely normal news It is difficult to have an invisible lover, yes, growth is the end of disillusionment, stay at home and wave your hand vigorously, listen to the empty tide, wave after wave like waves of the long night work and rest, the speed is beyond imagination, sad is that the author does not understand, I don't understand why life keeps passing.

The taste of the life chariot being thrown away, taken off the ground, as if leaving the game of the earth, shuttling in the untied or untied or untied without regrets, I heard that there are thousands of ways, forget that she did not belong to the author, it doesn't matter if you remember it is very common.

Here comes the reader, shake hands. During the day, watching the hard work, perhaps it can be called the hard vote of the greedy crowd, gathering and howling in the crowded city, the eyes of the bystander or the immortal have no love letter to look at, and do not want the dream song in the night to be heartbroken and beautiful, and cannot distinguish the indifference of the wind of life there, how the reader does not listen, and cannot listen to the song of la la la.

Gentle hair, longing to be caressed.

Tapping one hair after another, deep and soft, shaking streams, at best the consciousness is full of comfort, toast, your posture is perfect in the midnight music that is running intoxicated, more want to be anesthetized to stay, more want to be more tender, kiss to the most smug smell of smoke, continue, continue in the future, because the longing begins to spread when they are separated, oh!

Just as the flowers must wither, seeing through is bearing fruit, in the night without wind and snow, the unpoetic author, fell into the weathered yellow sand soil for thousands of years, broke through the loess, and ran out of a skeleton driving a skeleton horse, skeleton Pegasus, skeleton sky.

Isolated from the normal world, or isolated from your world, let your mind only leave you, only here can I be with you, forget everything today, all the troubles disappear outside the clouds, let the breath is all your sweetness, so that when you are alone, it is the happiest time, the roaring sprinkling, the roaring mountains and seas.

Whether there is no birdsong and flowers outside the window, there is no you, only the familiar smell of cigarettes and cigars, since that day gradually belongs to my story has ended, the turbid red color is flying in the blue sky, I see a transparent smile, it turns out that the smile is your face, then, the face of the angel of sorrow has become mine, and the author has written me as a demon of sorrow.

I thought I could understand what the author was saying, but I didn't quite understand what the author was trying to do. But I was forced to follow the author's train of thought, to take this imaginary journey of empty consciousness, who abducted whom?

Such a beautiful forgetfulness, oneself, like a story without a beginning or an end, thoughts are often empty, occasionally music, philosophy, the universe, women, work, occasionally movies, earth people, travel, fun, memories

You can like you very much while treating you as a friend, the roles do not overlap, often say that feelings are invincible, it is difficult to hurt emotionally, it is really hurt, at least if you are sad, then you feel that your realm or words and so on can also be sublimated!

The speed of falling exceeds the speed of flying to the earth, hiding his face and crying If there are angels in heaven on the white clouds, wash a demonic heart, I am afraid that the purity of the devil is much simpler than that of people, and the heart that no one understands, heaven hides hell, obliterates all kinds of wisdom belonging to the survivors, and grows wings without emotion one by one. The sad forehead, with the melancholy singing, swaying with the melody, like the various void lines of the wind and leaves, the hidden wounds, from the sight of the melancholy breath of the saint flowing from your heart, the depth and then jumped out, the ethereal rain like a forest of words falling from the wind, never thought that the words of fate were so strange, the piano was already docked in the air and ready, and the monotonous world of the clouds kept changing in a hurry.

It has passed the boring level of life, which happened in this season many years later, who told you, remember lying in my heart, so high, but your eyes look at the world after the dawn is so cold and cold, and once again you can't listen to the music, like the sky you can't love!

The sky is blue, I love you, the music is a butterfly, you are a thunder in spring, and the reader is like a chess piece piled up together and fiddled with his left and right hands. The dragon's book is still scribbled directly on it. Really bold!

How can you always experience the pleasure of seeing the world alone if you love landscapes! Without a spiritual journey, I feel like a dead leaf falling on the ground, perhaps worse than a dead leaf, and the dead leaf should have its own feeling, and in fact it is a reader who can set off at any time is watching the process of a fallen leaf becoming a dead leaf.

A lot of spirit, a lot of soul, material can not satisfy the desire is forever endless, constantly climbing and constantly looking for nutrients of the fallen leaves like people, and time race in the difficult thoughts, old monks like a day after day even the realm of the grandmaster can not be satisfied, what should not be nothing more than this kind of look, refers to this kind of passion and spirit, but also refers to the falling leaves should also have his demeanor! (To be continued......