Sicily, this gentle, carefree island. We followed gently on the land.
Hope for the sea.
I still remember the book "Twenty Love Songs and Poems of Despair", light green and the sea.
How many women has Yeluda deceived with those tender poems.
The sea can speak.
Sometimes she was quiet, sometimes hurried. There is no end in sight, a beautiful blue.
I still remember Guevara on his way, when he faced the sea for the first time, he listened excitedly to the whispers the sea whispered to him.
poetry.
Our age has lost faith in poetry.
The city is noisy.
Everyone started our love in high-tech with text messages.
And the recent romantic poetry era, since the old wolf Gao Xiaosong, those wandering singers, have since disappeared.
The postman, full of reverence for love poetry, for Yaleuda, carefully tried to imagine intoxicating verses in that notebook.
And the woman was overjoyed at these verses under the trembling of the postman's lips.
Now, love poems are just blunt words on paper.
Is asleep.
We should miss the past.
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