Memory is a piece of white paper, a few wipes, but there are always traces that can not be erased. And I am writing words worth remembering for this white paper, gently and carefully.
Spring has passed, flying in front of my eyes you quietly left, so incomparably calmly disappeared, disappeared in my world.
I was trying to find you, but did not know how to find up. I'm not sure how to start. I'm whispering silently, waiting in the world without you, searching, searching for your shadow, searching for the footprints that you had left, but I only found a summer of rain.
The tear-jerking rainy season blurred my vision, but failed to blur the memories of you staying by my side. The first time I saw you, I was so happy to see you, and I was so happy to see you, too.
Life is too heavy to think about, and too heavy to think about the flower pain. Autumn is thick, so thick that my heart aches, so that my heart is gradually withered, so fragile that it can not withstand a little bit of sunshine. I cried, sobbing red silent withered, the sadness of the ground was piled up into a paragraph of text, a poem of lovesickness.
Dear, because of you, I actually learned to pen, learned to write poetry. But you will never know, my words, how many times I had, for you to cry on the paper.
In that snowy winter, every day is so deja vu. That heavy thoughts have been frozen, but I was crushed into red mud.
The river of life has frozen three feet, no one can read the sadness in my eyes. I am so painful to look, but you will never know. So I was crushed into the red mud of their own buried deep in the ground, thinking that this will be able to bury that part of the thoughts.
Unfortunately, lost. The first time I saw you, I was so happy to see you, and I was so happy to see you.
You just so noiselessly against my forehead, in front of me fluttering, deliberately show your more charming body. I was awakened, but then drifted away, leaving me only a place of love.
I want to forget that I can't forget, I want to break, I want to find, I want to love, I want to love.
The day of the encounter so has been dissipated, after I can always find your beautiful colorful clothes, but is flying on the other side of the flowers from the, hard to reach. I can't stop the rising love in my heart. I wanted so much to open my mouth and show it to you. Unfortunately, you have not been able to hear my whispers and the three words I said to you in my dream.
Don't want to watch you fly around others anymore. In that sorrowful fall, I willingly withered my flowery clothes, carved words, and asked the kind wind girl to deliver that leafy love for me.
I know you must have seen it, must have seen it all. But after that, you and I are like two centuries apart, so far away, as well as your smile that has since faded, all so that I can not bear a little more blow. So I chose to escape, to escape this reality, to remember in the pain, to write poetry in loneliness.
The viewpoint of the rotating memories
Trampled by the light of day
Fragmented and dispersed
Tear-jerking rainy season
Sporadic words
Mutilated memories of the days
Bitterness in the handwriting
Lonesome and silent in the bottom of the heart
Just like the love of the drifting
But there are no more ripples
When thoughts are replaced by avoidance
I see the distance between dreams and reality
I understand that you can only exist in my poems
Little by little, time has disrupted my thoughts, but I sadly find that those memories are still so clear.
Five colors of flowers, my years of time, the painful and long thoughts finally let me understand that it is because of thinking of you that my words become beautiful.
Goodbye, dear. Even if you really can only exist in my poem, I still miss you.
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