That summer, you sent me to the roadside wildflowers, said not to separate, even if the whole world as the enemy, together to white hair.
Grip again tight, time to let our memories of the few remaining, countless times I want to ask you again, whether we are just children's words, really just children's words, but that is the best memories of my life ah.
The sadness of adulthood is the loss of the most valuable naivety, I began to fear a cold winter, your silhouette by the snow layer by layer, and finally disappeared without a trace, so I want to ask you again, we can not be together, we can not be together.
Probably a kind of youth is scattered, love and can not feel it.
As the official promotional song of the 2013 box office myth "Little Era", "Time to Boil Rain" is still my favorite after 6 years, and still sounds like ripples in my heart. It's really like time cooking rain, the more you cook it, the stronger the flavor. Thirty-year-old people, is mixed in marriage, family, career in the strong and lonely shell, no feelings, no soul, no self. Youthful memories are the proof that we have loved, lived and been free. Seventeen eighty-eight, twenty years old is always so beautiful, because it has forever become the past.
Smoke and rain like a shuttle, landing into flowers. Young two people, looking at the rain flowers in front of you, can also collide with the sparks of youth. Joyful laughter accompanied by the sound of the rain like a bell, and the strong friendship danced in this smoke and rain. Youthful, everything is beautiful, full of longing and desire for the future, young face confident and open. We agreed not to separate, to be together all the time, even with the enemy of time, even with the world away. I thought the vow could withstand time, could fight against all oncoming forces.
The wind blew snowflakes all over the sky. I wrote your name in the snow, you stood upstairs and snickered as I walked into loving footprints. The snowflakes in the sky could not drown out your smile and mine; it seems that your youth and mine are enough to fight against the bitter cold wind. We said we would break into the world together, do you still remember? Unfortunately, your smile has long been boiled away by time. I asked the Buddha, "Why does it always snow when you are sad?" The Buddha said, "The winter is about to pass, so I want to keep some memories". The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on a new one, and you'll be able to do that.
Probably are just children's words, youthful absurdity, only let me harvest that year as if immortal vow; probably just young and ignorant, the years can be deceived, only to let your vow dried up in the cold riverbed. Sorrow is like a river, swallowing up a turn away from the youth. Years and years, years and years, the snow has long erased the traces of you and me together; green grass, love has been barren.
Spring, summer, fall and winter, turn around ten years. We each live, but no longer have interaction. Perhaps there is still a problem, but you do not come, I also do not go. Probably, the past good, this sealed, only to afford once young and enthusiastic. The first time I saw this, I was able to see that the whole thing was a bit of a joke, and I was able to see that it was not a joke.
Youth, no trace, fortunately there are memories.
This song is a great feeling for people after 90, especially after 95, looking at the small time, as if yesterday, but now it has been many years, after 95, a mature and children's age, experience too much, but also experience too little, a contradiction in terms of age, "young dream still in the hands? This road of you and me and him, who is lost," those years said in this road to be always together, now is still there? Naive we said that this life even if the world as the enemy, but also to be together, but now ...... each run to the future of the figure gradually far away, and now hear this song, will still think of that period of time, those people.
I still remember the last language class, the teacher said: "take out a piece of paper to write silently" The class tore the paper sound The teacher said: "Wrong a hundred times, less a two hundred times" The class complained "Teacher, silent what? "The names of all the students in the class." "The names of all the students in the class." Time never grows old, and we are never apart.