Life without travel can be called life. Life at least two impulses, a time for a love regardless of personal danger, go to travel.
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The freshness after the rain washes away the weariness of the world.
Lost the most precious things, got thousands of miles of pain.
Camping under the stars, listening to the sounds of nature, feeling closer to the world.
Maybe the fault does not lie in the way but in the choice.And there is nothing wrong in love,but in destiny