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51 melancholy

There is something so hard to find, something so hard to find, just confused in that place, just miserable in that place. Pen? Interesting? Pavilion wWw. ｂiquge。 ｉｎfo

Yin Ling used to wander and hesitate, this is all Yun Die's revenge, or is Yin Ling not particularly familiar with the hatred, so why should she Yin Ling meddle in the matter to avenge Yun Die?

And all of this is so re-for, and so melancholy, as if it is something that will be lost, and what cannot be found.

It's just arguing there, and what's there is constantly arguing. It's like an endless quarrel.

It's just that in that quarrel, it's just that in that quarrel it's at a loss, it's painful in that quarrel, it's at a loss in that quarrel, what kind of feeling has disappeared, what kind of emotion is it, and it's gone so unconsciously.

It's as if it's gone, as if it's something that has never been found, something is there to fear, something is there to tremble and be helpless.

Something seems to be struggling there, and it seems to be struggling again, something is close, something is so far away, as if it is so difficult to get close away.

In the quarrel between proximity and distance, in the endless quarrel and confrontation, there is something that disappears there, as if it has disappeared completely, as if it has never been found, as if it is so impossible to find anything, it is difficult to find anything, to believe in something?

In the world, there seem to be some things worth believing, and there are some things that are so impossible to believe, and so difficult to get close, because they are so afraid, so afraid, and so helpless, just so helpless, the heart is there little by little.

In that struggle of melancholy and helplessness, in that errorless confusion, what kind of displacement, what kind of broken possibility and impossibility, what began to become distant, so far and farther.

It's like the distance of the heart, it's like the distance of the heart, it's like the two hearts are so suddenly far away, and suddenly the two hearts, the two people, are so strange to each other, the strange is as if they don't recognize each other anymore, as if it's so difficult to find anymore.

In the unsearchable void, in the unfindable sadness, in the unfound, in the sadness and helplessness, the heart weeps there, drop by drop, it will still be so unreal, unreal like a deception, it is such a long-term deception, and it seems to be such an unreal deception.

In the pain of that deception, in the melancholy of that deception, what kind of distance there is, what kind of long and distant distance, far away from the past, far away from the sorrow, far away from the former person, the former warmth, like a funeral, like a funeral of the flower of death.

The struggle of life in the past and the present of death, what kind of painful struggle, or so and so painful and helpless, so sad and helpless, what there is crying there.

There is something there indifferently and softly crying, when the warmth is gone, when the loved one is no longer by his side, it is so guarding the frozen and cooling world of thousands of years, and the difficult endurance in that freezing and freezing will be so painful.

Some of the things in the pain were not intentional, some of the things were so confused, and some of the things were at a loss, and then they wanted to wait there.

It is there that it is good, and it is so persistent and persistent waiting, it is so strong and non-stop waiting, in the chaos and chaos, in the chaos and chaos, it is as if it will lose itself, as if it is so suddenly lost itself, as if it is as if it cannot find itself.

I want to find myself, I want to find myself so well, and I don't want to stop looking and searching, the road I am looking for is the road that can't be stopped, it's a kind of bump, it will be so difficult and difficult to find my own road, and I can't find my own road in that bump.

It's so hard to find the path that I once had and the path I have found, it's like a road that I can't find, it's a hardship, and it seems to be so heavy in my heart, my heart is heavy, my heart is there, it's like I can't find myself in such amnesia, it's like I have forgotten myself, it's like I lost myself in the fog.

Like a lonely puppy in a cold rain, it was a lonely puppy, the puppy opened its mouth, and barked weakly in the cold rain, but it was so lonely, so sad, so lonely, and so cold......

The rain soaked it, it was the rain all over it, it was so soaked by the rain, like tears, and in the rain and the sorrow and sorrow that was soaked in tears, something disappeared there, as if it were so gone and could no longer be found.

What is so unwanted, and has always been so unwanted to find, as if it is impossible, and it seems that there is no reason, and it seems that it is so impossible, and it seems that it is so impossible, and it is so impossible to have too many things, and it is not good, but it is still working hard there, but it is still there with difficulty and non-stop efforts.

Strive upward, strive to find the unknown heaven, try to find the unknown direction, in the helplessness of the search, it is so unclear, no longer clear that the world full of rain is not clear, it is a vague world.

It is also in that blur of disappearance, what kind of disappearance can not be found there, it is a kind of despair, it is a kind of despair, it is a kind of despair, it is so sad and sad, and in that desperate pain and sadness, it is so quietly crying, it is so quiet and faint crying.

In that crying silence, what kind of machinery, what kind of repetition, what kind of exercise there is, what kind of want to revive there, and forget in that revival, but also in the blank in that forgotten piece, what can't be done, what can't be done, what can't be done, it seems so meaningless.

"Yinling, that's a meaningless vacancy, that's a meaningless void, that's meaningless, it's like something that has never been done, and there's no point in doing it again. Everything in the Soul is meaningless, meaningless. ”

Just listening like this, listening to his shouting, listening to his disapproval, listening to his angry and disapproving voice, in his disapproval and anger, she was just so confused, confused in a blank, what kind of struggle.

What kind of expectations, what kind of search and expectations, what kind of want to be better there, better, not so deliberate harm, not so deliberate destruction, not so deliberate disapproval, just so sudden sadness, suddenly a blank in my mind.

The struggle in that blank doesn't know what it is for, and she doesn't know what the reason is, but she can't find what kind of reason, and she is sad in the middle of not being found, she will be sad, she will be sad, it will be sad for herself, it is a kind of sadness for herself. Is it a kind of helplessness to oneself, and I don't know what to do with myself?

She just didn't know what to do. I don't know how to defend it, but there is something empty there, there is a painful and painful emptiness, the discomfort in the emptiness, the discomfort in the emptiness, the discomfort in the emptiness, the discomfort in the emptiness, the helplessness in the crying, the silence in the crying, the slowness in the struggle.

There was something there slowly, in that slowness lost the enthusiasm she once had, and it seemed that she had lost some of the feelings she once had, those feelings, everything that she cherished and cherished was all gone, all gone and never returned, and she cried bitterly in the sorrow that never returned, so convulsive and crying.

It is so helpless crying, it is so lonely in the heart, the inability to follow in the empty loneliness, the anger of the heart in the inability to follow, the anger of the heart, the sadness in the anger and helplessness, and the regret in the sadness, just like tears and tears.

What kind of bits and pieces can't be found, what kind of pain is still in that piece of ruin, what kind of selfishness, what kind of selfish heart, what kind of sad pain, what kind of cruel possession that cannot be explained, the numbness and fault in that possession, there are too many unreal numbness and faults.

It's like something pouring out completely, a pain somewhere in the heart that is completely pouring out, it's like being so painfully helpless, it's like being so painfully hurt, something that can't be approached.

There is a pause and a stupe, what kind of satisfaction there is in that cowardice, and what kind of unsatisfying pain and pain is felt so much, the pain in that cycle, the distance in that pain.

What kind of voice is there long and distant, what kind of heart is far away, what kind of heart wants to cherish something, what kind of heart wants to cherish well, what is so cherished and cherished, and what kind of cherishing and cherishing is in the re-unforgotten search and search, and then so forgetting.

It's like forgetting that you can't find anything, it's not so deliberate neglect, it's not so deliberate neglect, but it seems that there is always a period of time that belongs to a person, and there is always a time and time when you want to stay alone.

If you want to go to such a person and stay quietly for a while, just stay for a while, feel the melancholy of your heart, the heart will be sad unintentionally, and the heart will be unintentionally dissatisfied, that is the vacancy of the heart of the heart that does not know how to explain the heart of one's own heart.

What I want to cherish and cherish there is so non-stop, what I don't want to stop, like what kind of pain I can't stop and stop, what kind of forgetting, what kind of helplessness, and what kind of distantness I have.

It's so far away, it's so far away, it's something broken, it's something that can't find any track, it's a bicycle, it's a bicycle walking quietly on the sidewalk, it's a very bright time full of sunshine.

It was a brilliant time like chasing dreams, and in that brilliant time, a piece of good beauty, in that piece of goodness wanted to accompany and accompany something, not so lonely, not so completely alone.

It's a different kind of world, it's a world that shares one's own world with the world of the people around you, a world that is not so clear and clear, it's not so clear and clear, and it doesn't seem to have much to do with it, as if there is nothing wrong with it, there's no uneasy fault there.

Whose eyes are they, whose eyes can no longer be found, in the turn and look back of the back, there will still be a heartbeat, or will there be a kind of heart jumping and beating again.

I don't know what to do again, there always seems to be something that can't be explained, something that can't be explained, something that can't be left there, something that disappears quietly.

There is a pain of leaving in the middle of that distantness, as if in the midst of leaving there will be such a sudden good pain, what is so painful, what kind of pain cannot be explained there, but in what kind of inexplicability, what kind of new explanation is being found, in what kind of new explanation, what kind of new way is being found, not a particularly clear way.