Anastasiaki

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It rained all the time

The love for rain has a long history, especially in the autumn twilight. A man walked in the rain, seeing the mountains far away and the water covered by the misty rain.


Look at the flowers and trees become more green and green under the baptism of rain, look at the rain drops fall on the calm lake, ripple waves, there will always be a different feeling in the heart, as if a pair of natural hands gently touched, the appropriate.


I have always felt that rain is the embodiment of poetry. No matter walking lightly or melancholy with loneliness, as long as there is rain accompanied by it, even simple days will give a bright color and moisten your heart.


From then on, the world left only clean and pure MD Senses, in the eyes, in the heart.


"Through the ages, many things have come to mind with the wind and rain." All said that the literati sentimental, hurt spring sad autumn, that light sorrow was lightly touched by the rain, the moment overflowed heart, inexplicable happiness and sorrow then can not be hidden.


Life on earth, who is not make public of youth, who never young dream sail. Who can not touch in the past, and who have no opportunity knocks, time and tide wait for no man of the moment, however, time flies, the last of the last, in addition to the memories of the smooth add a warm thought, after watching fireworks across the night sky fall silence, with many words, and who say?


It seems that there are too many feelings can not find the outlet, need to use the words to vent. When the drizzle is lingering, it must be the time when the sensitive people splashed ink and ink, and the moving words flowed out of the heart, not rigid, Mini Dynamo not deliberate, but dense, in the flow of time and emotion, witnessing the richness and absence of life. Joy and sorrow, love and sorrow, meeting in memory, singing in soul.


The movement of life, the wind, or remember, or forget, only the rain know.


Rain, is a fresh xiaoling, boundless, xiaoxiao sprinkles, in the gentle place, see gentle. Especially in the silent night of the rain, reading a good poem or writing a paragraph of good words, it is a different kind of enjoyment to unfold the rich imagination in the world that stands aloof from worldly strife.


At this time, you read is no longer the rain, but the life of a lot of real moving, the dust in the world of the heart, has been washed by the rain clean, showing the original truth.


"Holding an oil-paper umbrella, I wander along a long lane in the rain. I hope to meet a girl who is sad and resentful." Walking in the rain, it is easy to remind people of the lane in the rain poet, the clove girl with sorrow and resentment.


Ancient city, lilac, light rain,Adrian Cheng  light sorrow, a lot of past events from the rain, always in a moment to light up the heart, that a chapter with the rain, how is a beautiful word.


An oiled paper umbrella covers the story of how much heat and cold is interwoven. A misty rain, moisten the hearts of many people.


Always feel autumn day lingering drizzle, it is a romantic piano music, play in the open field, play in the heart of the deep, always can listen carefully when, give a person to enjoy like dream. That high and low scattered notes, and the story of time integration, interpretation of life without regret chapter, left to today, to tomorrow, to a long memory.


In fact, in jiangnan, listening to rain is not a kind of poetic romance, but the most ordinary life. Rain, reposing a thick love, lyric place, can be seen its euphemism.


I don't know everything in nature, what is more human than rain, and what is the necessary connection between the rain and the words? I only know the gentle and delicate words, which are intertwined with the light and clear rain. The information between the lines will be wet eyes inadvertently.


The spring rain is continuous, the summer rain is unrestrained, the autumn rain is bleak, the winter rain is desolate, the rain, always in casual, falls in the heart, like a person who comes to visit in the wind, take your hand, will love, hate, sad weave into a fine net, nets the heart of feeling, moist dry soul.


Or one day, all things are old, the melodious sound of the rain, but only for the heart of the people to slowly experience, slowly comment.


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