Doors Down

"When I was a child, I was always taking you by hand like this, just looked forward to waiting at your side "Are the songs here slowly in mp3? Then plant it very? Is it near very? Is the sound on the ear? Are the ones that hum done? ,The friction for a while? Tympanum, collude? Memory of the end.
Though it was very crazy that day passed, I admit. But will often precipitate one's own mood. Take a broad view of the future at some time, it is still so remote a thing, since I comfort, I am still a child. However, the sense of oppressing that time passes quietly is still such heaviness. College entrance examination just passed, that kind of oppressing the crazy attacking of sense as tidewater. The pace of time, I am unable to imagine, since just like this year, the elder brother's Senior Three and my Junior One. It it seemses that even if at yesterday, but the elder brother really must go to go to the college, and I would welcome the life of the Junior Two soon. What is my future? An enormous question mark that can make persons suffocate. A lot of things want oneself to hold, I am taking every steps cautiously, in fact, I fear to face very much too. Wishing eagerly, like ostrich, bury one's own head in the sand dune, the opinionated one is trying to escape reality.

As the song is circulated many times - -" very tired ", I begin, think fondly of that kind tender temperate and moist in the past, injure as a child a bit again. We can kind and sweet with smiling unprincipled. Can not fall asleep at midnight, jump arbitrarily everywhere, now, will not turn on the light and write down the truest characters at midnight. Stare flankly, think? It is wanted that some mood is what has been said and should be spoken to person understanding, however, nobody will understand. No longer when picture was a child, anything can be shared. Grow up, painful but enjoyable. In this small city, these children of struggle in youthful happy and pain of ours of life. We once believed the happiness, was loyal to the child of the friendship too. Time erases the young raised angle, some insist but can not erase forever, one that is with a lot of injures heel one's own match healthy and strongly. Reality look like one sharp knife, slowly, changed beyond recognition whom me cut, that longer kind of cores as hard as walnut, evolve struggling in growing up, know? The walnut was tender and soft too in the past.

Having grown up, though how to give up. Bathe in sunshine, the breeze is blowing slowly. I spread the palm out with a smile, " forget over " .

Are you remember the song " When I Was a Child" like this hand in had go to the end?

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