The youth time flowing on the pen tip
Looking back on the way they have traveled, more than 20 years of time like a one-act drama, always repeating the same scene, deducing the same script, after a departure and encounter, assume impeccable joys and sorrows.
Time, pure oneself thought it was like an untouchable old dream, forever warm in the passing years of light and shadow. Now, we are in the years of aging and wade through another thin years, and those domineering memories, some fall in the river bed of life become unable to pick up the fragments, some are still lonely hidden in a special corner, in such a well-articulated era, we also began to resist the power of time.
Life is like drama, drama is like life, through the long grass Yingfei Yun Hua, bid farewell to the quiet and stable years of life, we have been living by the enjoyment of conversion into a role of future explorers. Began to grow up on the road left and right, shed tears of loss, across the oncoming pain, can not compromise to accept the fate of the arrangements.
We are all veterans of the battle of youth, and after long disappointments, struggles and baptisms, we are still walking on this lonely path. Looking up at the sky, struggling to walk behind the back, dragging a beautiful sunset, that flow in the pen on the young time
In those years, we walked together in the depths of the jungle of youth, went to school, after school, discussed the new songs of May, and made unrealistic dreams. We believe: nib has our beautiful spring, we have to lead to brilliant tomorrow bridge, a long season outside the classroom wind and sunlight, abrupt this quiet beautiful, will be this period of youth lit up. We meet in the pure oath, time does not disperse, we are not old, we hope that time at this time fixed, let each other's youth bloom forever.
Past events such as a clear stream, the years in its body splash small water, quietly washing the quiet, yellow thoughts.
Those years, we have no choice but to sit in front of the desk to write hard, with tears and sweat watering the most pure years, with simulated test papers and graduation photos to write those years of dancing. We are worried about the sudden face of the class teacher at the back door window. We are afraid that our ranking will not advance or retreat next month. We are afraid that after graduation, we will be separated from our close friends and brothers. We will get carried away because of a praise from the teacher in class. We will laugh because of a few jokes from our classmates. Life is colorful, those moving star points of time, those different bumper cars sitting on the different characters, the collision of color out of the wind, deepen, lengthen, decorate the whole restless summer.
Life is always uninterrupted in the years of replacement, we linger with the time in the flowers, a storm, a day and night, let each other die contact, you have been on my voyage, but not in my sight, I miss scattered in the time of you, there are those unending stories.
Time is light, time comes quietly like the wind, walks quietly, steals our youth, takes away those stories that have not been finished, and leaves a cruel ending for future generations to sob.
Those years, we often walk in the dead of night streets, street lights pull our figure very long, looking forward we can cry because of a familiar figure. Sitting on the bus wearing headphones, we can also because of a love song into the heart and linger. Sitting in the classroom, we will also be heartbroken because of a failed exam, but now, all this is like a kite with a broken line, flying to a place we can not see.
In those years, we do not understand the suffering of society, do not understand human feelings, do not understand this is yesterday, we do not understand anything, simple people laugh, but then we have the deepest happiness of life. Life is like a black humor, childhood, you think unfortunate life is actually surrounded by happiness, grow up, you think happy things are actually buried too many unfortunate foreshadowing.
The leaves are colorful, the light and shadow of the ground are mottled, the time is gradually far away, and the vegetation is blurred. Passing youth site, the wind took away silence, we are determined to tear off the label of the student era, in a crowded road with heavy steps, toward the blurred distance of unremitting walking.
Through the ancient city, my heart perches under the camphor tree of childhood, my eyes fall on the children playing and frolicking on the way to school, and I suddenly feel nostalgic. Once warm, flowing in the pen tip of the young time, like a classic old song, in my heart wanton flow.
Through the dark gray memories, I seem to see those formed frozen past, they are like silent black and white images, in front of my eyes across, replay for years of joy and sadness.
Title: Dreams like Death
Post a comment