I forgot how long it had been since I last had wet hair like this. Pick up a notebook, a pen, sitting in front of the window, looking up from time to time, the brightest star in the sky, accept the baptism of moonlight.
I always at this time, the thoughts back to the past, warm those who let me uneasy memories, along with the picture once, or happy or sad. Sometimes unconsciously the corners of the mouth upward, my heart is full of joy; sometimes silently shed tears, crying like.
I have grown up without patience and habits. I still remember how I looked three or four years ago. In my spare time, I would shut myself in a room where no one disturbed me, hide in quiet time, and write my experiences and past day and night. Everything that happened, recorded in written form, became a memory.
Looking at myself now, what writer, what ideal, what essay diary, have been ignored by me. No longer in nothing to pick up a book to see forget the time, no longer sitting in front of the window to write a diary, wrote late into the night. I'm wondering where the old me is. Is it because time is old and has been updated? Or have you gone with the flow and not been persistent? I really hate myself who has no idea now, just accompany with mobile phone every day, chat, play games, except those related to study, other things are related to me.
This rhythm is destroying myself, I am tired of not working hard, tired of black and white monotonous life, I want to enrich myself and find the hard work.
Growth, is constantly honing themselves, enrich their own process, I can not be so lazy, nothing to pursue. I still remember when I was young that simple promise, the future, I will not live up to you.
Author: An Xiaojie
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