20221February Classic Inspirational Warm WeChat Signature

The stars secretly shed tears, but the clouds covered their faces.

The moon is pointed and the rehearsal site is tilted.

Think in the treetops and taste the taste buds of the wind.

Falling seeds record lost dreams.

Sedimentation in the inner world, running and screaming.

The weather is bad, and warm water soothes the soles of the feet in winter.

In an instant, the overwhelming exclusive Pentium.

Or simply leave, when there is no wind or rain.

There is no other dream, you can put another cloud.

After another wave of unrest, some of them can really beat the shore.

Lock the beautiful door and walk into the deserted Yuan Ye.

I don't understand. There were only clouds in the whole sky, so there was no wind.

The sunshine finally appeared, and many people were full of melancholy thoughts.

I don't believe the desert will appear. Tomorrow may not be a holiday.

Only a blunt knife can cut the outline of time.

Autumn is too big to look back at home in late autumn.

Autumn rain is the cleanest, simplest and severest rain.

Eating alone is blind, and many people may not see food when eating.

If there is tomorrow, the quilt probably hasn't run away from home.

A weeping moon hangs from a lamp in the treetops.

Paved roads are always so loyal and so good to perform.

People pray for rain in the sun and sunshine in the rain.

Transparency is blatant in a strange alley, listening to the madness of the wind and rain.

The pointer shook the whole city, and all the steps were muddy.

The seeds of spring kept sticking and directly occupied Nestle.

The rainy season will always come, and there is low pressure in every desk.

In rainy season, the pocket is wet, and the salary is more painful than the sky.

Paint almond acid on your face, and the code left tomorrow will be clearer.

Every day I know the new you, just like every city where I live after I turn around.

Tears kept dripping, and the dance of the whole country began in the rain.

Flowers spilled from a small bottle, and the sound of turning around was blown away by the wind of memory.

Woodpeckers saved a turning road and bought a secret recipe for knocking at the door.

The earth salutes all things with silence, and people must perform various ceremonies to feel polite.

Abstract painters are always painting crazily, which is an absurd yearning for dreams.

It is agreed that if crows occasionally fall along the way, it will form the spring dew last night.

Dreaming in bed in the middle of the night, prepared a full manuscript, but couldn't say anything about love.

Autumn rain washed away the lead dirt in the world in order to leave you a truth.

Tears fall on the corner of the window, and the moon sighs and thinks about the rain, which hides the idea of hiding the scorpion tail.

The painting that was once carried out along the mountain returned to the sea where we first met.

When I miss the waves, I am used to flapping my arms and constantly training my regenerative ability.

At night, people who come down from street lamps stretch out their hands, touch and smile, as if touching the stars all over the sky.

You have to take the initiative to bend down to eat farther food, so that you can grow your hands and make good use of rice grains.

Engraved with a smile, we drifted away and sewed the wound into a slender mountain road step by step.

I dabble in your horror, savor the thick bone marrow of the treetop stream and catch up with the beautiful evening tide.

Hearing the pain of Mercedes-Benz, my ears are like a flower that can't bloom and can't send it solid soil.

Covered with the smell of squid, the melancholy rainy season wet the living expenses, and satellite positioning nailed into existentialism.

It must be the excessive discharge of synthetic loneliness, and falling rocks have been spreading dusk in the Far East.

I began to count my hearts in the morning again. There is no cup to catch honey and no air to miss butterflies.

Draw an arc in red, which is the beaming smile of Grandfather Sun, and it turns into Leng Yue-like tears in anyone's heart.

At night, it was a blue light green. On that winding path, the light on the unopened cabin door was dazzling white.

Everything counts down to the second dusk song, which floats to the corner without fallen leaves alone, full of the pulse of the clock.

Through the tuyere on the back of the story, like assembled Cupid, stay in time, let's explore the original person of love.

The walls were covered with fermented menus, and each one was burnt by the oil smoke. My fingers want to sew up my mood to prevent my eyes from puncturing blisters.