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Time is the hourglass: how much time we can have
- Jul 27, 2018 -

From the source to the end of the source, it is only the cycle of time and exchange, everything will be clear and disappear, life is constantly accumulating and rushing, each sand will have its own destination and flow, maybe at that moment, the wind will drift away, time It is a river that can collect more life and miracles. We are the starting point and the end point of the sand. From there, we can go back there. We will stay and stay at the river. The wind is not the only direction. Not the last stop, fate is the boat in the river, listening to the sea breeze, returning to the sea is an expectation, come and go is always busy and running.


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How much time we can have, a grain of sand, a dust, or a lot, the long rivers of the years will wash away too much glitz and mud. Time is an hourglass, time will drain all the emptiness and traces, and the original pulp and vitality of life will also drain away all the dust. The air is nothing but the last powerlessness. Only when you leave your position, will it accommodate more. Full of expectations and expectations.


Love is a sand dune. The surging sand is a storm that is not seen, and the sandstorm is not calm. The red male and the green female are the sands that are surging in the group. The red dust is flowing. The flow is not the material desire and the glitz. The exhaustion is the collision and separation of the back and forth, like the fireworks are bright and bright, and the endless stream is the beginning and the end. After looking back and hurting, the singer’s smile is sad.


The endless story is the chasing and following of love and love. The red dust is sand, and the ashes burning in the fire are buried. A cup of green tea sizzling, two glasses of red wine to drink fragrant, three glasses of spirits sprinkled sadness. Youth is a love song, some sad beauty in the vagueness, no continuation but a curtain call, the years are a phonograph that begins to fade, and every time you hear the touching and inexplicable vicissitudes, love is a tunnel without a destination. The shuttle does not reach the end of the years, there is no movement to start and end.

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