Falling leaves, the thoughts floating in your diary

Frost falls, Lucy, and autumn is strong. The wind slid across the window of the dream across the glass, and there was a sound, and the leaves were suspected to be falling. Woke up from a tearful dream, leaning against the window, a few maple leaves falling in the courtyard, the moonlight of the ground. The moonlight is everywhere, and the eyes are full of white and yellow. Leaning over and picking up a leaf covered with moon dew, gently put it in a diary that has begun to yellow, holding it in your chest. The heart, like the dewdrop that has been shaken by the night wind, is missing in thought.

The night is cool like water, and the moon is cold like ice. Standing in the cold moon, watching the night light sleep, the dark fragrance is scattered, the leaves are frosted, the wind is passing, the whites of the Acacia are washed. In the colorful hustle and bustle, the first hand asks the moon, when the Acacia River becomes a river, and looks at the shore, the river of the years will be ruthlessly flooded into the waters and yin, and it will not be able to cross it. Who is your fate? Still waiting for the dusty ferry? When the flowers break the sentence, the leaves are broken, the rain and frost are ruthlessly buried in the red dust of life and death, and finally can not be relieved, who is your confidante, who can stay in your harbor? Use the words to stack the thoughts of a season, when to send the Lanzhou, let Hongyan go to the most sincere greetings, and that heavy and heavy thoughts.

Suddenly think of something, fold back to the bookstore, lie on the chair, and ignite a cigarette thoughtfully.

For a long time, although I often knocked out countless words on the health plate, I loved to use a rusted pen to smudge the twisted heart in the diary. But it’s the first time to lift the pen like this tonight.

Open the diary and pick up a leaf sign. It is like a butterfly flying between the fingers. The fingertips fell on the page, and a glimpse of the shadows slammed into the lines of text, making people feel drunk. As a result, some familiar images are looming, alternately presenting in front of my eyes; the red-colored Zhu Chang flashes past the book window, but I have not seen anyone, but I have already smelled the familiar body fragrance. I imagine you. There is a moment of shyness, a wave of Wang Ze, swaying the three peaches and waters of the tenderness - the deep blue chiffon skirt, at night, the layers of 熠 熠 芳 芳 芳 - - - - 蝴蝶 蝴蝶 蝴蝶 蝴蝶The hairpins of the hairpins have been connected to you, please tell me about the shadow of your shadow?

A teardrop fell from the eye and dripped the leaf in the diary. From the first sight to the wind and rain road that I have walked through together, although there are more and more, more thoughts than joy, and quarrels are also happy, but always glad that there are you along the way, always glad that we have never let go of each other. hand. When I met each other, the sweetness of the fragrance, the tears of the knot when I left. Let me put it this way, your gestures in the hands and feet, a smile, and even the look of your pouting, in my opinion, make me feel so precious. Even every minute and every second with you, every laugh, every tear, is enough for me to inscribe with words, it is worthwhile to use my love to use all the years to collect and guard...

There is nothing more in the world than this, it is more beautiful than this kind of memories and lovesickness, and even more tearful happiness!

The passing of time is like a never-ending blast, thinking of the dust and rain of the past, such as a poem and song that is entangled in a tearful heart. There are joys and sorrows, tears and laughter, hugs and waves, and there are thoughts and look forward to. In the past few years, I don’t know when I have developed a habit of making myself feel funny. Every day, I have to do a homework to calculate the time when you will come back over and over again. When will you give me a surprise and how many times you will be back. Looking at the clock and staring at the second hand, the second hand is still difficult to hide. It is still the kind of miss for you; the eagerness to rush to you, completely ignoring the unbearable tears in the eyes.

Fifth grade: Wang Shouqing