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Volume Three: With a blow of destiny, the king appears. Chapter Seven: The Prose World of Fallen Leaves

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    The reason why Beijing impressed me so deeply was, of course, not because of the scenery or other reasons, but because I once longed to hang out with a beauty who I thought was pretty good. When I realized it for the first time, I will always remember it. Naturally, this place is arranged in my heart.  Very, very high.

    The photo was taken in front of a Starbucks cafe. The difference is her smile. The images of the ice palace and ice gourd are intertwined into a dream-like realistic scene.

    ??The majestic Forbidden City in Beijing cannot withstand the cold wind. It is trembling in the crowd and the faint sun. The communists who are addicted to cigarettes and smoke in front of Tiananmen Square stop in a moment and become eternity in an instant. This is the eternity of the author.

    Watching the performance of Golden Mask Dynasty was indeed very exciting, but what left me lingering was the faint fragrance around me.  The scenery of the cloisters and tree shadows of the Summer Palace is no match for the still smiling face.

    It doesn¡¯t matter whether you pray to heaven or offer sacrifices to heaven in the Temple of Heaven. The beauty of the sky is right in front of the author¡¯s eyes. She is so charming.  798 Art District Plaza, a confusing journey, showing the same stupidity, the slow escort escort was in a convulsion, his hands were frozen, warm coffee, and he was chatting with the travelers who were about to go to New York!

    The strange food in the night market, the funny wooden cups and bowls, the shadows on the ice lake in front of the Bird's Nest, the posing in front of the Great Wall. The happy time is so fast, as fast as a short dream, the jumping mood like bubbles, I don't want to forget it.  Too much, just right, just repeat it occasionally.

    ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????mbps out out out.  Don't love Beijing, don't love, don't love, don't love, don't love Beijing, don't love, no, don't love; love, love is the feeling, and her in "The Sun".  The erotic heroine of the author¡¯s seventh love letter once traveled around Beijing with the author

    Just like that, he fell into his own trap.  Integrating oneself but being separated from oneself, probably because of the incomprehensible and unpredictable nature of love and destiny. I am confused about which one I should follow. I can't guess it, and my prediction is wrong. The impact of this description may catalyze my own emotions.  Character may also blow away all your consciousness.  It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, it's not as important as sand in front of the universe.

    Time is in a daze, staring at it.  Freeze.  Only writing on the computer, passing through the computer, passing through emptiness and nothingness, and finally waking up.  Just listen to the sound of typing.  There is also a rattling electric fan.

    We have to leave eventually.  It is like a Tao that is not as good as sand in the universe, it is like illusion, it is like reality, it is as sad as a dream, and it writes about the sadness that does not exist.  It is difficult to tell the truth from the false when it is really sad, it is the feeling of being wronged by words, a series of dance word suites, if it were not for her voluptuous figure moving and phantoming, the world would not be so dazzling, seemingly seducing.  The leaves on the pine tree, and then the fallen leaves falling down, the fallen leaves think they are wonderful, in autumn, it is my own day.

    Fantasia is fermenting in the silence of the world's small citizens. The graceful and slender legs that are neglected by fantasy, the beautiful eyes that capture the very beautiful facial features of the lover, happy heartache is extremely normal news, it is difficult to have an invisible lover, that's right.  Growth is the end of disillusionment. Staying at home and waving your hands vigorously, listening to the empty waves, and the long nights of work and rest, the waves come back like waves. The speed is beyond imagination. The sad thing is that the author does not understand.  , I don¡¯t understand why life keeps passing by.

    Howling!  The feeling of being thrown away on the rollercoaster of life, taken away from the ground, like a game leaving the earth, traveling in a carefree world without regrets. I heard that there are thousands of ways to forget the things that never belonged to me.  She remembers that it doesn't matter, it's normal.

    Readers are here, let¡¯s shake hands.  During the day, we look at the hard work, perhaps it can be called hard work, and a greedy crowd gathers in the crowded city and howls and howls. The eyes of onlookers or unworldly people have no love letter to read, and do not want to see the hard work at night.  The singing in the dream is heart-breaking and very beautiful. I can't tell where the wind of life is blowing indifferently. The readers can't listen to it and can't listen to the singing of la la la la.

    The gentle hair longs to be caressed.

    Hitting the silk keys one after another, the soft, swaying sound, at best the consciousness is soothing, toast, your figure is perfectly intoxicated in the swirling midnight music, how much you want to be saved by anesthesia  , think more about the tenderness of getting together, the kiss will smell like smoke until the end, continue, continue in the future, because the longing begins to spread when we are separated, oh!  Dancing under the empty street lights.

    Just as a flower must wither when it blooms, it bears fruit if you see through it. On this night without wind, flowers and snow, the unpoetic author fell into the yellow sand that has been weathered for thousands of years, broke through the loess, and rushed out a skeleton riding a skeleton.  Horse, Skeleton Pegasus, Skeleton Sky.

    Isolate from the normal world, or isolate from your world, let your mind only keep you, only here can I be with you, forget everything about today, all the worries disappear out of the sky, let the breath be all you  The sweetness, such words are the happiest time when you are alone, the roaring and unrestrained, the roaring oath of friendship.

    Is there no longer any birds singing and fragrance of flowers outside the window???Without you, there is only the familiar smell of cigarettes. From that day on, my story has gradually come to an end. The turbid red color of the injury is flying in the blue sky. I see a transparent smile. It turns out that smile is your face. So  , the face of the sad angel became mine, but the author wrote me into the sad devil.

    I thought I could understand what the author was saying, but I didn¡¯t quite understand what the author was trying to do. I was worse than the readers, who were very free to leave without reading.  But I was forced to follow the author's train of thought and take this imaginary journey of emptiness and consciousness. Who abducted whom?

    Such beautiful forgetfulness, one¡¯s own self, is like a story without beginning or end, thoughts are often empty, sometimes music, philosophy, universe, women, work, sometimes movies, human race on earth, travel, fun, memories

    I can like you very much and treat you as a friend at the same time. The roles do not overlap. It is often said that love is invincible. It is difficult to be hurt by love. It doesn¡¯t hurt if you are really hurt. At least if you are hurt, you will feel that you are in your own state.  Or words, etc. can also be sublimated!

    The speed of falling is faster than the speed of flying upward. I hide my face and cry. If there are angels in the heaven above the white clouds, to cleanse a demonized heart, I am afraid that the purity of the devil is much simpler than that of human beings. No one understands the transformation.  In the heart, heaven hides hell, obliterating all kinds of wisdom belonging to the survivors, growing out emotionless wings and sad foreheads one by one, driving melancholy singing, swaying with the melody, like the wind and leaves.  The void lines, the hidden wounds, from the moment you see the saint's melancholy breath flowing out from your heart, they jump out from the deep, and the ethereal rain is as strong as the rapid forest. The words fall from the sky wind, never thought  The words of destiny are so strange, the piano has been parked in the sky and is ready, and the world of clouds keeps changing monotonously.

    It has passed the boring level of life. It happened in this season many years later. Who told you that I remember lying in my heart, so high, but your eyes looked at the world after dawn, which was so cold and cold. Listen again  Music that cannot be heard is like the sky that you cannot love!

    The sky is blue, it¡¯s you I love, the music is a butterfly, you are a spring thunder, readers are like chess pieces piled together and played with by the left and right hands.  Long's book is still scrawled directly on it.  Really bold!

    How can one who loves mountains and rivers always experience the pleasure of seeing the world alone?  Without a spiritual journey, it might feel worse than a dead leaf falling to the ground. A dead leaf should have its own feeling, but in fact it can leave at any time. The reader is watching the process of a fallen leaf becoming a dead leaf.

    A large amount of spirit, a large amount of soul, and material cannot satisfy the desire. It is endless, and it is like a fallen leaf that is constantly climbing and looking for nutrients. The mind is trapped in a race against time, working like an old monk day after day. Even the master state cannot be satisfied.  What we don¡¯t want is nothing more than this kind of spirit, it refers to this kind of passionate spirit, and it also means that fallen leaves should also have his style!  (To be continued)
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