Theriveroftime,thereisawalkingrose,becausethereisaseaintheheart,eventheloveandfearofthesnowynight,cannotpreventherwanderingbelief.Holdingthehandoftime,shewaswatchingcolorfulfloatingfeelingafterthepast,asong,softlikeadreamgoodbyeyouth,seemstoseethepastthosebeautifulanddesolatelove,earlyinthespringaoft,outstandingalsonowheretoplaceyouthflypastthat.Itwasasurprise.Thegreysky,dropsofbluetears,isthebeautyofherpastlife.So,inthedayoftheSpringFestival,thispinkroses,Februarysangthewordsalltheway,inthedepthsofandseethepeachblossomredspringinspringrainnoise,noisemelody,sheheardthewomanflowerheartoftherainynightwhisper,hitomaffairandaverybeautifulflowers.Walkingintotherain,thefragranceofclothesishazy.Wuyilane,anoilpaperumbrella,pullingthebloomingjiangnanwoman,intotheearlyspringloveflowerpeople&39;seyes.Inthebeginningofthesiege,whetheritisthefullmoonnight,ortherainwindow,themostenchantingisthesceneryinthemoan.Hetookpityonher,andshewhisperedinherear:howmuchIwanttobewithyou,mydear,thislifeisnotenoughforyou.Shesmiledandsmiled,becauseweweretwoplantsofthesameroot.Atthismoment,thesky,quietlyrowingashootingstar.Look,peacestar.Shestoodontiptoe,blowinglikeanorchid,likeaninnocentyounggirl.Heputhishandinthepalmofhishandandgentlyclosedhereyes.Hewantedhertohaveadream,tolightalampforher,tomeettheloveofanancientcappuccino.Intheafternoonofmarch,therewasabeautifulspring.Oh,thecloves,too,havefilledthecorneroftheyard.Theoriginalcolorfulblooming,themostbeautifulscenery,unexpectedlystillthewindblowsrosefragranceofthismoment.Thewalkingrose,inatrance,recalledthatshehadseenthebeautifulhibiscusbloominthemountainsthatmonth.SayisAugustsuchasdrama,intheclearautumnday,heholdingherhand,startedonaridesaidyougetKongDongDaotrip.Themapleleafhasbeenredalloverthemountains,thelayerisfullofcolor,akindofgorgeoustotheacmeofquietbeauty.Thesketchofthebinhairoadisthemostbeautifulautumnthoughtinherheart.Paintingtime,lookingbackontheroadoflife,asifitwasanoldstageinthedepthsoftime.Thecurtainwaspulledopen,hereyesmetwithagills,hewasheavyandheavy,andatwistoftheheartwascold.Andthestageandthestagedeductive,hetastenotallisoneouttomakethesceneoftheloveandgrief?Welistenedtoliangzhu,andthestorytellersaidthattheoldimpatiensofChennianwerenolongeraskingwhowasthemelancholyguestoftheworld.Maythelifeoftheearthsmallwarm,theyearsquietgood,thehumantasteisqinghuan.Theworldisfulloftearsandtears.Intheblatantsoftred,although,smallyouandI,aresuchasmalldust.Butevenso,wecan&39;tforgetthegoodthingswedidwhenwefirstmet.Theredduststranger,thelifeislikechunyang.Thiswalkingrose,justwantedtobeawomanforthejoyofthewoman.Inthedepthsofthesmoke,rentaowalksuptotheclouds,andshehasasimple,quietsmile.Thespringandautumn,lettheencounterofeverylandscape,allthecharmingeyesofafragrance.Andshewouldliketobeaplainwoman,shallowsinging,inthewatercolortime.
