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I am fine

Once upon a time, there was an island where all the feelings lived: Happiness, Sadness, Knowledge, and all of the others, including Love. One day it was announced to the feelings that the island would sink, so all constructed boats and left. Except for Love.



Sky of June

{ 11:21, 3/2/2009 } { Posted in my life } { 0 comments } { Link }
In the morning, very big sun washes the sheet and summer sleeping mat, the white clouds in clear sky, wear the cream-coloured check dress of the flax, is hearing the taste that the impressive strength reveals person disinfectant in the sunshine, it is worth too feeling arduous.

Strong flower fragrant, sweet oily food, beautiful color, make me feel weariness often.

What I liked is that light far green grass is fragrant, the breath of the forest, the taste of the green cucumber, the food liked letting me think the body and mind clean, like drinking chrysanthemum scented tea, like blue and green pot tea and unoccupied smoke still green, like the sound of rain pattering when dredging the empty window of bamboos.

The dormitory building at noon, saw his figure. Suddenly, I pick up one memory covered with dust.
Remember initial leading along by hand, the departure later on, last going all out arrives, remember the smile begun, the cry later on, the last calmness arrives, the ones that remembered how I was once had liked deeply, hate, to the pardon.
About the love, it is lost in a certain corner unintentionally by me, or is the cruel one abandoned? As to him, do I still love? Because he relate to once love only, me together with that pure time, have commemorated?

Perhaps will real in one day I give up,last reason said good-bye to investigate, his idea, the misunderstanding of perhaps sum. If can not do, will have taken to heart and died until old all the time? Perhaps, frequently, there is no answer may be best.

Passing shallots period of years, we the transparent and sad one love originally life. This goes year in year out, the form is over in vain, have stopped, the not openings one, will all keep silent. The youth is a page closed. What kind of sorrowful bow body it is, could bid farewell with our former days, go far gradually.


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