Never dare to charge the pen through this life, just behind the ups and downs of the past, such as the catkins Yang Hua, general sadness dancing in the bleak heart empty. Years of monsoon naturally or half unconsciously will those who are sweat and tears condensed light cloud, blowing through the memory of the horizon. Looking forward to waving arms, swelling, pain a bit numb the nerve, still can not touch those mottled greenish yellow of the past. As the tide over the beach, the years across my story, only moist atmosphere and a few pieces of chic shells, silently tell that the vicissitudes of the memories.
I know that your own life is be overdrawn many, but the cruel reality is still in an attempt to denudation I finally a's independent belief. When you walk alone, flying all over the sky of the autumn leaves have not brought the news of spring. I did not want to charge for his pen in hand, write the Andante cantabile. I just feel that life bags already unbearable heavy mountain, the last piece of light down weight.
I know that the ordinary and plain is their innate birthmark. In the long journey of life, maybe there will be people with, but not someone I a road song. Maybe I can take a string of beautiful notes in the gentle spring breeze, but cannot be translated to break that sad pathos mood, that a string of beads streaming tears legend...... My world is beyond all the vacuum solitude and loneliness. All the prosperous and bustling, all in a familiar way with my pass. The most lonely time, comfort oneself or oneself only. Open the messy and familiar notes, sensitive heart and always palpitating with excitement eager to do sth. as a word, for a light was fading memories and fell dejected, however, is more of a Yuyuehuanxiu, unspoken loneliness and helplessness. Light thick to remains of the day, as in an aloof attitude stood in the diary, look at your every word and action. A song is proud to sing: "in this lonely day, arranges the song to yourself." I appreciate this kind of mood, although it had not suited to their age for the time and mood, however, perhaps it is because of this extra heavy and helpless, a wisp of light sadness no reason to smear on it.