Mood for Love, please don't miss

I have always loved you very much. I don’t know when I started to fall in love with you. Maybe, it’s the first time I’ve been in contact with you. Maybe it’s the first time I found a book I liked. Maybe it’s the first time I saw the sunset and thought of you. . At that time, my heart thought that you would be the darling of God.

Those young children really look like sail boats, getting farther and farther away from me, I reach out but can't stay. As the childish vision drifts farther and farther, it becomes a vague point, creeping away in the growth of my sky. Their colors are becoming more and more obvious, affecting my young heartstrings; their brilliance is so bright, stinging my light gray eyes, like a knife, waving on my heart. The lingering emotions are faint in my heart, and there is a mist in front of me. I always feel that I can’t let it go, but it’s always you who can’t let go. These feelings, tears, hurt me to kneel down, and use my hands to open the illusion in front of my eyes and put them into the water. I always want to infuse feelings into every word, and make it an eternal record. In that moment, I will always become a permanent. I always want to use my simple and simple feelings to involve a large section of Jinxiu Huazhang, but I will find myself back. But can't do it.

I participated in a literary society long before I joined the "dream". I don't remember how excited I was at the time, but I was a lot more excited in my memory than taking a "dream". Sorry, there are actually some things that are one-off. After one time, you can’t taste the same feeling as the last time. It’s like the excitement of something that you think you have no possible things. Once, the second time Very calm treatment. But I still want to miss the time at that time, very small, very clear, innocent but very fragile dreams are being treated by your little but gentle, although the time has dilute these, but now I still like this feeling, Still very fond of the Literary Society, I still like to work hard to write my favorite compositions, to modify the composition of the night or the morning. Although those days can no longer go back, I still cherish the momentary memories of that time, because when I feel that the sky is bluer with words, I have used my favorite words to remember this later. In the meantime, bury a quiet and gorgeous foreshadowing.

Along the way, they are all landscapes, all of which are memories. Up to now, I am still very eager for those who love to look at poetry regardless of the height of the sky. I am greedy for what I don’t want, but only for myself to work hard to write this text and enjoy the past. The past is like a mirror, reflecting the tediousness of the past and the joy of writing. Because of writing, I struggled to find the writings I had hoped for, so those simple and beautiful days in the past suddenly jumped in front of my eyes, a touch of light. Sad and beautiful.

The emotions scattered in the text are gentle and smudged, and the subtle sings ooze from the throat, so the long-awaited drums in the heart add to the ancient rhythm, giving me the motivation to start looking for the distance I am longing for. Writing, I sketched a budding spring, a spring called youth that makes life grow. Then, can you, can't be absent in the future growth of Fantasia, because I am accompanied by you, is nothing, I am a complete me.

I often hope that when I start writing, I am an age that knows a lot of things and know how to catch these wonderful moments. Concentrate every day into the words that infused with many emotions, and let that moment become eternal. If so, is it true that my memories of those now will be more abundant, rather than like now, I want to recall, but what I see is nothing but a vague shadow. I can't reach out and pull the old things of my old things. I can only watch them and watch them. In my memory, I drift farther and farther. Time, no one can stop it, he will dilute everything. However, I still refused to give up, I did not care about the goodness of my time, not to be quiet and beautiful at that time. And those days that have passed, I can only stand on the edge of time, face this time, cry and ask him, what should I do.

I believe in my heart, occasionally the drumming of my own blood, is my own poem, a poem about writing childhood. But when the poems in your heart ring, that would be the explanation. Is there a child who left his childhood at this time? The moment the fingertips fell on the keyboard, there was a very strange feeling of strangeness in the moment, and it seemed that I could not find the original fullness of the previous language.

In the days of stumbling and looking for an exit in my studies, I was looking for my own exit in the hustle and bustle, belonging to the nightingale that guarded myself. In desperation, words, like a sun shining into the dark world, melt the frost in my world, lead me, and in the darkness, pursue the light, so that I will not go the wrong way. Now, when I look back, I can’t remember the sufferings and loves and mysteries that have been experienced in those times. The only memorable ones have always given me unremitting encouragement and comfort when I was injured, and those who have been behind the support. My text.

But thank you, thank you for accompanying me through youth.

Indeed, our initial knowledge is a fate of God. We are all ruled by time. It is impossible to be similar to each other. However, I believe that the heartstrings between us are connected for a long time. Our friendship, like the mellowness of cappuccino, is as long as the faint and ancient carols. Until the last moment of our lives.

After a few years, when the time of sorrow goes to the end, but you will be me, the eternal spirit.

So please, please.

My tricks, don't miss...

Sixth grade: shallow singing in the sunset