Many years ago, a with songs of growth, a recorded a time diary, collocation are together, they form a called the vocabulary of youth. It was the first time we experience life happy, is also the first time we know the value significance.
Throughout the long life of the article, it seems that everything is so in a hurry. Last night's dream is still explains that the poetic intoned, now the moonlight but when the series of smile face, from the time of the old, the wind death all the echo of the memory.
Perhaps, there are a lot of things, as long as the past, is destined to become a story; There are many people, as long as separate, is destined to become old. In life it is also for this, because some people into, so the story will become so colorful; It is also for this, because some people leave, the story would become so unusual.
In a hurry, meet, in a hurry departure, experience the emotion here, and I can only use silence to will all the sigh hidden. I told myself, to be strong, you must learn to use the smile to face everything, even if the cold lonely frozen in the life all the warm, eventually translate into a not the marginal snowy day, I would still be smiling, not for other, for me for those who meet the treasure and/or give up.
Night, gradually short, wrapped around heaven soft moonlight nexus, seem to also fell even to breathe gentle dreams. Regrets the the days of his youth, singing youth elegy, let the soul drifting towards the distant young age, still listen to the voice of the butterfly wings.
However, perhaps is the time steps go too much in a hurry, and when we are still immersed in the past memory when, years but a puzzle forever to stay in the heart, in the idle fireworks last night, depicting the full blurred smoke, into a heart inside that lawsuit not over the continuously clear anxious.
As time passes by, we forget between raced around a lot of, can't remember certain people coming, also can't remember certain people away, like a cool breeze dissipation, will all the traces are fading.
Often in each a quiet midnight to her since asked: this life experience, and I remember how much? And forgotten? In a rush to travel between the years, already can't remember how many people come in life, and how many people leave, about once, I also only in the heart of the fuzzy frame.
Always miss, those who have me company by a and a time of the traveler.
Always miss, those who got together with you the time.
Always miss, those with you and every bit of experience.
Have the past, I don't know exactly how much I forget, remember how many. But whether familiar or strange, I seem to and never forgotten, just don't know why, suddenly can't think up, perhaps this is the place of the terrible years! Miss, the more you forget. The more you, and the more you forget, want to look for a also more and more many.
If the youth is a forgotten river, then years is a memory loss of ocean, we all just a drop in the bucket of them, leaving the sea after a laugh, yesterday we can keep all how. As we figure time kind, always in the memory of the past some of the author; Always in the illusion of the eternal twinkle spark. So in these years, my words deeply embedded the time, and in the years left on his forehead only belong to the vicissitudes of the I.
Remember someone said: "missing life is incomplete life!" In our colorful the youth, missing perhaps is a the most beautiful scenery, is also the most worth going to taste of an art. Maybe our mature, is inseparable from the missing notes, like quicksand ManWu cannot leave the wind. Time is too long, missing too much, unconsciously, we all went to the edge of the press of youth.
Has been very lucky, and you can--meet in the youth in the script.
Has been very lucky, and you can be together hand in hand through the youth of the article river.
Has been very lucky, and you can recall have had with literary attainment.
Although, the time goes by ruthless, but our story, but never fade, I will always attentively, remember them, this paragraph belongs only to our youth astronauts.
Think of the smile that year, I seem to see once again the figure, the scene, and those stories. Dear friends, do not know such many years, whether you have? Do you still remember that in the life most whichever memory? Do you still remember the only belongs to all of us in the mood for love? Do you still remember...
Looking at the clock on the wall, time is not the consciousness and already after a long time, gently open a window, and looked at the sky and the clouds a pale, saying his mouth the past really, again in a voice echoed in the sigh gently, let the lonely soul in writing the ocean take off.
It was late at night, the wind stopped, on light, I drunk...
阅读(422) | 评论(0) | 转发(0) |
