Today, I will always think of those years of those things, a cigarette paper, silent sigh time of indifference, so much also to not leave, so in a hurry, became the eternal life of the traveler.
Hastily re in a hurry, but some emotions even if unable to use language to express, heart always clear, the passage of time will miss.
Miss is a kind of pure emotion, Cecil strands, twine, inexplicable, inexplicable departure.
We are not the people in the pan yellow paper, though there are some things around would be no one to all sorts of strange things, writing. After so long, only a thorough understanding, is a good start, but also doomed to tragic ending.
May never find people as before the people, stubborn call I don't like the name, also sound euphemistically called, "nickname is always not on the table."
Come on, don't sleep, laugh.
Heart astringent, so instant heart rate slightly faster, Jimu looked, do not know is the sea breeze blowing fans of the eyes or upstairs splash of air conditioning water off on the face, hazy, seems to have not necessarily have more beautiful.
It is clear that I was not as happy as I was in the words of the past. But still stubbornly think of those days is so pure, so people indulge in pleasures without stop let people taste, so.
You say that?
If you say, must be the sentence "two people are not equal to us", the vast youth, also never thought. If it is extinct, is not able to set off a few waves.
Miss is a great courage to.
Some people say that the memory is because the hearts of the people who have a deep memory.
Just like a cup of wine, in time more fragrant. Like a drink, in the twilight of the white clouds, the sky. In the long forgotten delicious in the noisy day, earth wind and frost.
Four seasons silent reincarnation, also only at dusk is the eternal existence, the vastness of the sea, the clouds the sky, that without borders imagination make ileum hundred of the world eventually thousands of nodes. Miss in this not smoke, not language in the landing and rooting.
Some people say, like the memory of the more because the hearts of the time and often scars.
And the hazy mountains, flying birds, a cavity with thoughts, be full of melancholy writing. Among the clouds in the water fish...... In these circumstances, only one person, is pale, in vain.
Quiet time, in full bloom with a called Miss flowers, and flowers flowers has long been lost in the years of the other side, across the regrettable, but not the end of the bridge.
Perhaps, the distance of the end of the world, is the heart of the distance. After you have vertical is the scenery, also face the fleeting time. Do not love, can be gorgeous, but also lonely.
We'll see you, it's better than a lie. Goodbye, won't see you anymore. Only in the passage of tossing and turning in that silent miss, read a person, read a city.