The wind and moon are beautiful, and the world is romantic.
In front of the willow at the third shift, the romantic flowers and snow moon are at the tip of the pen.
If I were destitute, you would be my last luggage.
The years are the pen, the Acacia is the ink, the lines are full of you.
May you be poetic and picturesque from nine to five.
There are two great words in life, false alarm and recovery.
The moon won't come to you, and neither will the stars, but I will.
Like the person who is in a bad mood and doesn't want to be mean to you.
You're at the middle line of my left clavicle, the medial 0.5~1cm of the fifth intercostal space.
Sometimes my words don't make sense, but I'm really happy to have you in my life.
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