The warmth of our hearts only through the long winter

September 12 [Thu], 2013, 17:37
So sad world fleeting wind has passed away, scene stab people, broken shadow ceased, but the moon exist? hands of the clock cycle of turning, watch the sky clouds dotted the blue sky, but can not decorate my heart. Resident in this sad era of former Acura Praise history have sink to the bottom, once beautiful dream, one fragmented. Sadness, resident ...... my heart. we can leave, and only encounter when a memory. I used to think that, at the beginning of the end has been paving the way, but then I found out I was wrong, I am very ordinary, the outcome is not for me to decide. in this bright bit too much of the summer, I lost my childhood innocence, no longer playing in the river, no longer on the streets running, jumping in the fields no longer cheering. Occasionally only just sweat on the basketball court. This reminds me of Luomeng Yan, "90 we in the end what's missing? We use a lot of excuses to escape out. scorching sun really intense, always feel that once the sun always seemed more dazzling. Perhaps no one remembers it. Should we braved the scorching sun exposure will think? only sad memories of people will be, where there will be a happy man gap to rewind those who do? It was a bit too sunny morning, three days of life is somewhat busy, there are many bland, boring worth. Teacher called me, pointed out the window, I confused look out the window, I saw a middle-aged man standing in the hallway, dark skin, and some short stature stature, holding two mulberry logical to me outside the classroom. He saw me out and walked over. Handed me two umbrella, no,2012 MLB All Star Patch brought an umbrella, I said. He later was into my hands. Then he took me out to eat breakfast. I think, I do not know how many times this had reluctantly accepted the things they do not want to accept. In the eyes of adults, we always grow up year-olds. him as I hold the umbrella, we go outside. I looked down, silent. Or she does not know what to say more appropriate number. So, I looked at two of the same pace together toward the school gate. He was the first to break the silence, asked a question in my school life. So ...... out of the gate.

In school life for three years, will soon be over. I do not know whether I have grown big enough. journey of growing up, we reject the stunning scenery along the way, refused to parents, teachers, set up road signs. We, with undaunted courage and blind self-confidence, excessive optimism and has not yet faded immature, in thorny road, stumbled, covered with scars. It reminds me of a friend said, in the learning process of skating, wrestling scarred, and finally learn. So I thought, hurt is necessary. Only hurt to know how to love! For older, I say yes, for us, as if the moment thing. If we countryside as wheat, uniform growth, swaying in the wind. But it is still far from mature, we must also learn to love, learn to be tolerant, it will be brave, to understand responsibility, understanding and trust. Have dreams and hope. A philosopher said, to have the most simple life and the most distant dream, even tomorrow, cold, distant road dead horse. The warmth of our hearts only through the long winter, to make our lives prostrate, from tomorrow happier to spring blossoms. standing in the doorway filled with all kinds of breakfast restaurants, I sometimes do not know what to eat. Perhaps I should not like to eat, do not know how to eat, food or something, because I simply do not like it. As I hesitated, pocket phone rang, new era 2013 took out my cell phone, according to the answer, you can phone or straining ring. Kept constantly rang ...... moment disappear all around, I pick up the phone again, press the answer, I heard the sound ...... busy and exhausted, Dreamscape linger. those silent moments, those warm as spring water of the past, in the silent runs, converging to the river, the shore all the way to bloom, as we have a better future. This undercurrent surging Yellow River bottom, and how many people smile deposited with tears, nostalgia and grief. how many people remember this, our youth warmest thin libation? author fleeting.
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