这年，夏末 ，陌路，陌人 。
其实，我们都一样 ，为别人的故事欢笑着，却为自己的故事哭泣着 。
那微笑僵硬枯燥 ，有着一丝悲伤 。
我的眼神也一再涣散 ，涣散后就在也聚集不起来了 。
散在天涯，虚无缥缈，伸手去挽留 ，却留住了一地残骸式的记忆 。
幸福花开在彼岸 ，我在此岸遥遥观望，当忧伤化为灰烬，我就会到达那幸福的起点 。
That year, summer, meet, know each other.
This year, the end of summer, strange road, strange.
Xia Wei, past, pain, fate.
Life is always on too much about.
In fact, we are all the same, laughing for others, but we cry for your story.
The world rotates, four rounds of reincarnation, and the leaves are floated after another season.
I am also the same, engraving the sad blot in my mind, I always wipe it.
I know, when time does not have to stay.
Although this, he suppressed the feelings of the flooding, and continued to write his own feelings with words.
The text is soft and boneless, and it is bleak.
The smile is boring, and there is a sadness.
So I want to touch those bright sunshine, let happiness bloom in the fingertips.
Just, some remembering only in the heart, when the years are old, happiness is still far from me far away.
My eyes are also scattered, and I can't get together after screaming.
The sunset in the sky is too rushing. Yu Xia Guang has not illuminated smile, and people have been injured repeatedly.
Suddenly thought of childhood, then he had no worries, smile like flowers.
Time put our innocence, the future is coming again, and the birthday of the child, the birth of the years, it will draw the sentence, and the childhood is not there.
Some people say that the songs in the wind are most beautiful.
So, I stand in the wind and concentrate on listening.
When the wind blows, it is drifting with my ear, but it is dandelion cry.
It's time to be too ruthless, those who we think that they will never forget, eventually become a hurry for each other.
scattered in the end of the world, the virtual, reached out, but retained the welch memory.
"The butterfly is fritter, the flowers are flying." This should be the best explanation of pain.
Life is always like this, inadvertently hurt others, it is hurt by others inadvertently.
When the past is unbearable, when I can't hold the youthful signboard, I think sad, I have spent another season again.
That youth is like a silent river, a long flowering, a fate, flowing down a ferry.
Happiness is on the other side, I am looking at it on this shore, when sad is ash, I will reach the starting point of the happiness.
The summer weather changes impermanence, and my own thoughts have become very fast.
Summer, summer. origin. Margin.
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