The bright moon still shines on the window-1

Do you want to buy the funky cheap plus size formal dresses under 50 and show off your body? Your will be elated by your enchanting look.

In my heart, I have been longing for warmth, whether on the unmanned road or in the bleak season, I walk according to the sun, winter is coming, the seasons are tossing and turning, who can stop it? 

Cold and summer, vegetation rise and fall, are natural, the northern winter, there is an irresistible chill, but it is also refreshing. 

Annie baby said, always need some warmth, even a little bit of self-righteous souvenir. 

Yes, as long as according to the sun, fleeting wind rise and fall, people come and go, whether it is dusty, or collection, will become the most beautiful scenery. 

On a winter afternoon, there is still warm sunshine near the floor-to-ceiling window, which is not as warm as the autumn sun, but it is also warm. 

When I was young, I didn't feel that time was in a hurry, but now, half of my life has passed, there are traces, there are no traces, there are landscapes in the words, there is warmth in my heart, why fear the cold wind of one night, let the warmth of my heart coexist with time, and those who meet in life are still as beautiful as clear water and cleansing my heart. 

Also because of the lust for the warmth of one meter of sunshine, in the grass and warblers in the south of the Yangtze River, looking forward to the poetry met in the drizzle alley; but also for the sake of that familiar smile, in a thousand turns, will be blooming with the fragrance of gardenia flowers. 

The streamer is the easiest to throw people, those red cherries, green plantains, the end is a pool of quiet spring water, in the yellowing chapter, planting soft and warm, has become a silent fleeting year, spring rain scenery, in the winding mountain road leading to a quiet place, writing a clear blank. 

The past is an emaciated flower, will eventually be in the fleeting wind, gradually drifting away and getting cooler and cooler. 

Whose heart will those falling petals hurt? 

How far does the reading held in the palm go before it can be thorough and cool? 

I believe that all the encounters in the world are reunited after a long separation, saying gratitude and cherishing, while those lost notes never write about the quiet beauty of autumn, sleepless midnight, whose eyes have been wet by autumn rain? 

Who will remember the dew picked in the morning light gently? 

The years are suddenly late, the fallen leaves are old and green, and everything will be far away when it slacks at dusk. 

And we just need to be the warmest passers-by.