Eternal complex

Although Yan has no trace, the years are silent. But the time of the white space is flowing in every corner of life without any trace. The waves of the dying year are always washed away in the heart of the distant, the waves of water swaying gently, the petals in the wind gently fall. What prompted us to grieve, happiness, happiness, and grief into a silky rain, launching a round of attacks in a quiet night? I explore and look for this power.

In the deep blue, the stars in the summer, the moon in the autumn, the ethereal, the mysterious, the Tatsu. The night attracts too many dreams and is therefore unfathomable. People who want to read it often fall into it and cannot pull out. Looking up at the sky, the ancients borrowed stars to live a divination, and today the number of meteors secretly wishes. Things are human! The glorious, tragic and miserable history in the chaotic world, the rapid rotation, thousands of years, but just a finger. And there are still some relative statics in absolute movement in this world?