To save time is to lengthen life.

It is written in the future, in the catalog display of happiness, a page and a page, is beautiful, also did not turn to the last page, I have lost myself, and then later, when you are gone, I turn to the rear, afterword is written in the sad ending, is separated, a sequel to the trailer, is miss ...
-- he turned the page

Along the way, or sorrow or joy, or or, I cherish.
In the wrong into prisons struggle, finally is the whole body scar, tired thoughts cannot afford any expose to wind and rain, now, finally quiet huddled in a corner, his fingers, half shade the sun, the wind blew several strands of hair, head not language.
The scenery along the way to spread, I stop missed some, but also lamented the left-behind scenery brings me great satisfaction. In the passing years walking time from the fingers, imperceptibly to fall, the rising sun and moon day after day, in those days, those who be at a loss what to do, what is illusion?
Watching the two personal memories, a person reading. Those happy, the sad, the helpless, the trembling, are clearly reflected in the mind. Blame themselves too rigid, or blame others too cruel, numbered marks, who is drawn by mark ...
Sun through the clouds cast a light, slightly shaking, reflects the mottled memories. The thin oxygen in panic to escape, escape from the space of sorrow, condensed too many tears, wet. I clenched palm residue gentle, at the intersection of confusion.
Familiar figure more and more far, my sight grew dim, try to hold to. The ending scene of debauchery, but pale I in your world only color. The music resounds, called love, then slowly turned around, in the charming night disappear. Submerged in the sea of people, but also how to get rid of your shadow.
Memory one point one point ripped, one point one point in time through, becoming a hit album beautiful, sad, like the wind, stop. Then, still buried under these past memories, let them in the heart of disaster caused by flooding water, or to drop the thick dust, and dust.
Meet, is the preface. Always leave too much suspense, let you follow, never miss a chapter of the story. However, in the story, the final, or did not see their desired outcome, so, look forward to, the next section, thus, deeper, always have hope ...
Acquaintance, is a directory. As the story of ups and downs, slowly about experience. In the story, slowly feeling once phrase fixed person or thing is not exactly like you want it, or that, beyond or not. In the interpretation of the story, or sorrow or joy, or helpless ... ...
Love, is in the center of. This one blank, as always but I love you. Many times, the lonely figure in the street next to the elongated and shortening, wandering upset. Those who be opinionated happiness, so far, so lonely, so fragile. Can 't afford to tattle and prate, more can not afford the night long.
Separately, is the ending. Would have written stories, stand in the palm, tearing the sad, tears, cruel deduction. Do not want to stay, do not want to play the perfect ending, so, serious interpretation of good will, without struggle, rendering a moving plots, intoxicated with their own.
Turn around, always so fast, too late to say what, may also do not want to say anything, and maybe I don't know what to say, leave behind, go gradually gradually far away, until see the black spots ... ...
You are my hands out of a book, I am lost in your siege, Lu Fengjing good, I love. Bogged down deeper and deeper in the maze like train to heaven, the temptation to me, so, I completely conquered.
Through the book, page by page, imperceptibly has looked into the page, bleak ending, the tears wet home in mind, how can I believe the story, turning, was such that be at a loss what to do, so a turning point, break away the original good, fold away the original happiness. " Clang", books, fall to the ground, then picked up, page has been in chaos.
Over the years, I see the future, that's life, rain, the umbrella, the two person, still wrong shoulder.
And the sun tomorrow, my world, no dark side. The wind imperceptibly, take my hand Yuxiang, leaving dusty little, I turned over the last page, tell yourself, has come to an end.
Put it on the bookshelf, the most obscure corner. Like the people stranded at the bottom of my heart, with time may fall on the thick dust and buried him, perhaps forgotten, perhaps revisit ... ...
However, at this point, turned the page, close.