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| 2014/08/08 10:27:07瀏覽162｜回應0｜推薦0 | |
With the advent of the youth alexander hera, youth is the time, the period of time. Immature love also quietly and with the pace of the elegant and can't reproduce. Although young but all hearts, although foolish but linger. Girl in love. The dream, to play good qiu's heart. Flowers, river bridge, all kinds of ambiguity, all sorts of promise. But all good, all this with the damn timesong, died on the carpet of light years away. Leave is a ray of glimmer of aftertaste alexander hera pre wedding, a little helpless, there is a little bit of unwilling. I can do is to put this beautiful love, in a certain corner of the bottom of my heart most deep place. And then locked, seals, buried. Calm down and wait for a day. Cut in beans GuaJia, a pot of fragrant teas, lingering aftertaste, slowly to understand, perhaps is called a memorial ceremony at the bottom of my heart silently. This love will not disappear, with time it will precipitate in the bottom of my heart, slowly. Is like leaving an altar alcohol in the deep heart's core, the longer the fragrance. Once accidentally hit will be infatuated, the corners, fill the sweetness in my heart. As we age, experience feelings will be more and more. But often experience a feeling, natural into the habit to compare with the first love. No matter, holding someone's hand alexander hera pre wedding, will think of her tender hands. No matter what and who with what kind of shopping, will be remembered with her passing scenery. No matter what people eat and what kind of rice, will think of her favorite meal. No matter what and who lived a what kind of valentine's day, and stays with her the joy of holidays. Even in the heart has a little bit of conflict or disgust. Day inadvertently passed slowly, day after day, year by year with all kinds of love, all kinds of love. Nothing more than, understanding, sweet, love, dating, go to bed, quarrel, disgust, break up, then back to their homes, each looking for mom. Everything, are not as good as at the beginning of a clumsy hand in hand to warm, is not as good as when a botched sweet kisses. Maybe I haven't forget, maybe I didn't forget. Maybe, maybe, maybe there is no such thing as maybe. Sometimes there is a sickly paranoia, denied the about male and female of all. Don't believe love, also don't want to believe. Not because been hurt, but afraid of being hurt again alexander hera wedding. |
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| ( 心情隨筆｜心情日記 ) |
