I
still want to get
on a trip to
the end of the train, once there is no end to the journey.
Look at the way ever-changing scenery and people, to record the beginning and the end of the process but should be cherished.
Love to travel.
Yearning to travel thousands of miles just to aimlessly; not the attractions of the sea of people, only to feel comfortable streetscape. Or go or stop, in principle, is to see the mood. No complicated baggage, there is not much reason to. A backpack, an SLR, a lover, like taking pictures of a brave heart stay away. Perhaps this is the best state. Throughout the year is a good season with good scenery.
Light twist of the warm spring of a sunflower, listening to the sound of wind in the wheat.
Through the fish-like and ambiguous crowd, watching the snowflakes from the sky quietly cast sprinkle.
There will be an orange firefly insects, packed in a transparent bottle, jump in the swarthy star curtain. Your hand caught my wandering heart. This is a people living on the road, intoxicated with the taste of the wonderful feeling of an addictive, from the ordinary life of this addiction, memory lane, even if the same itinerary and details, each chewing up are different.
Look at the way ever-changing scenery and people, to record the beginning and the end of the process but should be cherished.
Love to travel.
Yearning to travel thousands of miles just to aimlessly; not the attractions of the sea of people, only to feel comfortable streetscape. Or go or stop, in principle, is to see the mood. No complicated baggage, there is not much reason to. A backpack, an SLR, a lover, like taking pictures of a brave heart stay away. Perhaps this is the best state. Throughout the year is a good season with good scenery.
Light twist of the warm spring of a sunflower, listening to the sound of wind in the wheat.
Through the fish-like and ambiguous crowd, watching the snowflakes from the sky quietly cast sprinkle.
There will be an orange firefly insects, packed in a transparent bottle, jump in the swarthy star curtain. Your hand caught my wandering heart. This is a people living on the road, intoxicated with the taste of the wonderful feeling of an addictive, from the ordinary life of this addiction, memory lane, even if the same itinerary and details, each chewing up are different.
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