Policy talk:Privacy policy

Years are getting late, just waiting for the cold moon to lean against the window, at the desk, lightly express a touch of leisure, on the note, waiting, night comes, just like waiting for a woman in fate. Youth is fading, and the tenderness of immortality is still hidden in the context of the years. I am still waiting, waiting for the woman who leans on time.

　　 The sound of the piano messed up my thoughts on the rice paper. The clever melody, like the lotus flower of a sketch, opened up a pink heart, cut my fate on my fingertips, played it on the blood-stained strings, and under the night, a light sigh was made between my eyebrows.

　　 When looking at the window, the west wind blows up, with one hand holding flowers and the other holding the piano. The sound of the piano drunk the Xuan window and the flowers drunk the beauty. A cut of lovesickness, a touch of lingering lingering fingers, you and me are across the bank, but it is the two ends of life. For who is the flower blooming, who is the pity for the flower, for whom you continue to live your life, and for whom you can live long hair without cutting, and for whom you can play that peerless Sanskrit sound.

You are the woman who leans in time, wearing a light gauze, a finger of a suqin, any wisp of the westerly wind picks up the lightly dancing gauze of the neon clothes, and let the three thousand green silks brush her cheeks, leaving a touch of refreshing Xin Fei's daughter, Xiang, is like a fairy walking out of the painting, beautifully painted in this troubled mundane world. I am willing to hold three thousand obsessed, holding an umbrella on this blooming embankment to wait for you, even for three thousand years.

　　 I am the falling flower that hurts by the shore. At the end of the world, watching the flowing water, who wrote your name on the flying petals? From then on, I did not ask for a name for the rest of my life, but I hope to exchange white hair with Yiren, frost dyed blue silk, stay in this life, and never abandon in the next life.

　　 dressed in plain clothes, leaning on a railing to view the scenery, carrying a few wisps of breeze, and dreaming with the bright moon, dyeing lovesickness, holding a handful of snow drifts, calmly guarding the loneliness and passing years. In this life, when will you be my home?

　　 Mu Xue is miserable, and whoever keeps his heart cold, your tenderness melts in my eyes. Missing has dyed the snow, and the breeze has been icy for a month. On the broken bridge, who is playing the piano and singing tragic songs, touching the raised snowflakes with fingertips, and a thousand lines of tears in the cold?

　　 You are the woman who leans in time, wearing a long dress and following the wind, sitting alone by the curvy water, bathing in the moonlight, looking back, smiling, and smiling into a landscape. I am the man waiting on the waterfront, waiting for a lovesickness to become a dream, leaning on the window and lean on the railing, looking at the stars in the sky, turning around, lowering my eyebrows, and flicking away tears. If, love must be unforgettable before it can be remembered. I would like to be like a stone bridge, after five hundred years of wind blowing, five hundred years of sun exposure, even if I have no chance to cultivate and sleep with you, may I be on the same boat?

　　 You have long hair to reach your waist, wait for my silky silk to be upright, marry you, okay?

　　If, I’m right on the green silk, wait for me to spread ten miles of red makeup, come next to the water, hold your hand, fill in the word bonus, lean on the column, sing a song, in a prosperous world, the flowing water will fall, and the two will follow each other.