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Samstag, 10. August 2019, 07:52

my heart, leaving a sha

For me, normal life is a luxury. It is never possible to have your own thoughts like other little girls. There will be no small emotions due to small things. They will always be expressionless, lifeless and lifeless. I don't like the current life, because it always makes me feel that there is no hope for me. After 18 years old, I want to start wandering. I like to walk alone in a strange city, wearing jeans, wearing a cap, carrying a black canvas bag, black earphones with black silver in my ears, and a lonely, empty song, stirring in my heart. In the middle of the road, I walked down the streets of the city with my head down. The confusion of my eyes was mapped to my heart, leaving a shallow scar, leaving behind a lonely back, becoming the city��s belongs to me. An imprint. At the beginning of each journey, I have to prepare enough money. I don't like places where there are many people. Every time I go to a city, I have to find an independent house. I don't like to live with people who are half-baked Wholesale Cigarettes, but I love to play word games. I am eager to be busy and don't want to be lonely, but I don't know why I can't fill the gap in my heart. During the day, you can quietly study your favorite profession, or go out for a boring walk; don't go to sleep at night, lie on the hammock outside and watch the sky and the stars linger, think about something... summer Like a fire, it seems like a year of water. The youth is like a pointer on the clock, and it��s gone forever Online Cigarettes. It takes away our illusions and beautiful shadows, and only the sad and gorgeous pieces fly away from the front The winged angel took away the wings of the dream, and at that moment it was instantly stiff and could not find a trace of anger. The rounding, twisting, and winding are gradually tightened until the lack of oxygen, but there is a blank in the brain. The repressed atmosphere sweeps everything. The history of the sky is unprecedented, there is no moon, no starlight. The memory is like the annual ring of the camphor tree. As time goes on, it is covered with moss and grows in the dark. Lonely eyes penetrated into the bottom of my heart, mapping the empty loneliness that could not be said. The fog and the rain are falling and swaying, with endless air and silence. The year has passed, the summer has
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