Time flows quietly, the four seasons of the turn, in the turn of the ferry to stay, turn in the red dust of the ferry crossing waiting in anticipation, always think that this is since the ancient period of the coincidental words. Those stained with autumn rain pieces still swaying under the trees in the depression, but now it is just a summer ignorant prom and the same as the drift of the autumn wind, in all the remnants of everything, we or who?
I don't know where the bravery comes from.
I think I am a happy autumn lotus, just want to be happy under the warm winter sun. But all this has been seized in my hands, I reached out to the fingertips of distant thoughts slipped in the heart, before my eyes emerge are clear memories swept away, even if occasionally fantasize about a certain day, but in the end can not be defeated by the time of the abrasive knife. This can not be erased and my sadness.
The winds of autumn hit the window, hitting my dreams, will be my thoughts from page to page drifting to another dream. I really don't know if I like this kind of day is not how good to live, just I didn't grasp the degree head of time, but just has not been able to walk each other's way. We just look at each other silently, just never look back, we all say good not to stick to the end. Not insist, is a kind of courage.