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神话都是一丝不挂的故事,比真实还要真实的杜撰,在皱纹到来之前一复活。符号正在被梦境腌制,不成不淡,在流淌中穿行。我知道在某个夜里,它们一定醒来。满纸游动,精灵在鼻尖上的舞蹈,像那个多血质的魏晋,精神浓烈。无须坐稳蒲团再坐稳山头,只要眼底清澈,就能自在翩跹。所有的眼睛都在这里聚集,这个日子没有其它任何的邂逅。不带杂色的底片,冲洗出不老的岁月,将热切的眼眸围在尘世。我突然明白:什么叫做目送。
Myths are all non-stop stories, more than real ones, and they are raised before the wrinkles come. Markers are being marinated dreams, not weak, flowing through. I know that in a certain night, they must wake up. Full of paper swimming, elves in the tip of the nose dance, like that more blood Wei, Jin, strong. No need to sit on the futon and then sit firm, as long as the clear eyes, you can easily flutter. All the eyes are gathered here, this day without any other encounter. Without variegated film, washed out of the old age, the eager eyes around the earth. I suddenly understand: What is the purpose of sending.