Summer is a time for lighter things, like writing poetry rather than novels. The fleeting light wanders between the fingers, and the chirping of cicadas flies into Xia Tian's eyes. My morning glow is your moonlight, with dewdrops soaked in poetry. The night comes like a tide, sil

2024/06/3019:56:32 article 1058

Summer is a time for lighter things, like writing poetry rather than novels. The fleeting light wanders between the fingers, and the chirping of cicadas flies into Xia Tian's eyes. My morning glow is your moonlight, with dewdrops soaked in poetry. The night comes like a tide, sil - DayDayNews

Summer

Summer is suitable for light things,

such as writing poems rather than novels.

The fleeting light wanders between the fingers,

The chirping of cicadas flies into Xia Tian's eyes.

Summer is a time for lighter things, like writing poetry rather than novels. The fleeting light wanders between the fingers, and the chirping of cicadas flies into Xia Tian's eyes. My morning glow is your moonlight, with dewdrops soaked in poetry. The night comes like a tide, sil - DayDayNews

Dawn

My morning glow is your moonlight,

with dewdrops soaked in poetry.

The night comes like a tide,

silent and boundless.

When the heavy waves recede,

I bend down to pick up the dawn shells.

It is the gift you left me.

The end of an accident

When an accident occurs,

life ends with physical pain, and

memory ends with safety and security.

It's too late, it's too late to breathe,

It's too late to sort out everything that has passed away.

Summer is a time for lighter things, like writing poetry rather than novels. The fleeting light wanders between the fingers, and the chirping of cicadas flies into Xia Tian's eyes. My morning glow is your moonlight, with dewdrops soaked in poetry. The night comes like a tide, sil - DayDayNews

covering

Life is always like this,

covers another joy with one kind of joy, and

covers another kind of pain with one kind of pain.

People cannot step into the same river twice,

but they can make the same mistakes again and again.

Turin Horse

Turin Horse, it never moves an inch.

The light chased me to the sixth day,

On the sixth day, everything became dead silence. When

speaks, no sound is heard; when

touches, the object automatically deforms. The sixth day of

is endless.

The Horse of Turin, it stares at me.

resists depression, resists negativity,

resists the unnecessary accumulation of experience, resists dullness,

only resists indecision, I surrender.

The horse of Turin, it never moves an inch.

Summer is a time for lighter things, like writing poetry rather than novels. The fleeting light wanders between the fingers, and the chirping of cicadas flies into Xia Tian's eyes. My morning glow is your moonlight, with dewdrops soaked in poetry. The night comes like a tide, sil - DayDayNews

Limbs

We float around in the air every day,

Our brains are hanging high, and it is difficult to feel our limbs.

Until disease makes you keen,

keen on the wrapped bones,

keen on the invisible internal organs,

keen on every inch of skin on the back of the neck.

You realize that the brain's daily struggle

is not empty.

Summer is a time for lighter things, like writing poetry rather than novels. The fleeting light wanders between the fingers, and the chirping of cicadas flies into Xia Tian's eyes. My morning glow is your moonlight, with dewdrops soaked in poetry. The night comes like a tide, sil - DayDayNews

Adventure

In childhood, living is a matter of course,

Until a certain point, living becomes unnecessary,

Every day for the rest of the day is an adventure.

firmly believes in the shining years that have yet to come, and

has been able to breathe until now through twists and turns.

After a rough calculation, so much time has passed.

I really want to throw off my anklets and stand up and applaud myself!

Summer is a time for lighter things, like writing poetry rather than novels. The fleeting light wanders between the fingers, and the chirping of cicadas flies into Xia Tian's eyes. My morning glow is your moonlight, with dewdrops soaked in poetry. The night comes like a tide, sil - DayDayNews

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