essays

Late at night,

Leave the a wisp of lonely,

Pretending to be sleeping quietly,

Miss,

But like a vine,

From the bottom of the heart began to spread,

The posture of the corner,

The centrifugal around,

The height of the fence,

Still so,

Just,

But with a deep, across past

Look up,

45 degrees in place,

Jasmine,

Still as not conspicuous,

Light fragrance,

As light feeling,

The swing, dwells,

Close your eyes,

Point the smoke of a rich,

Feeling the chill of the cruel, homey flowers

The pain of the past to grumble,

Floating, dream, if

Then three two language point empty,

And later this month, the

Sorrow, the more strong,

And more than a few, left, QiZhi

So, the waste,

Memory that could,

Judah, and weeds

Little star cui,

Broken not survey,

With a stream of lonely, sprint

Think who, not language