as a withered bloom, night gone toward
the horizon, on that fatigue had the
essence of life, some dream
remained on the leaves
alike the dew drop,
few scattered
on the
surface, the realism of your love has the
infinite elegance, often appears
on the edge of eyes, it's
different, some said
it's pain drops,
but in my
view,
that's the phase of life nothing more that,
amid the light and shadow, you
often peep with smile - -
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