2014年05月02日
I am on the way just now clearly
4gewe3g6edge weekend morning, woke up in a quiet moment, warm yellow room, ease. Pick a book from a list of prose to have a place to sit down and read the sun, feel the happiness. Afternoon, riding on a small pink bike around, observe the shape of the leaves, flowers posture, experience the wonderful nature. At night, sit at my window write words, feel the peace of the night. Life there are always many problems waiting to solve, I've been to facing the quiet way.
Door's paddy field, the sky is a bamboo forest surrounded, every time look up at the sky, I yearn for the unknown people and things outside, hope that the future can be different life.
When studying. Back I get up early every day, my father bought the little red school bag to school, all the way in your last night to recite the text, the old card, he thought, pulling the GouWeiBaCao beside. Soon begin to do morning reading, everyone as usual go to the designated person sat down, and began to recite. When they are about to start reciting, I also see a few eye to close the books. Time minutes tick in the past, many people have returned to his seat, took out the textbooks to the class reading, I also turning the eyeball to wonder what is the next line. I am on the way just now clearly already memorized... Wondering if my memory. Such anguish to recite the day until after the college entrance examination. I don't understand, those to recite when whistle... But, the characteristics of unwilling in drives me stubborn against this "fact".
I began to write diary. Late at night, the sky outside the window the clear, visible around the house, like dawn. Sliding a pen on the book, occasionally stop refers to static thinking, should always have a way of memory is suitable. I believe, and hard to find. Later, I will think of these texts as many images, and many of the stories, reciting is fun and easy. This confirms what I believe.
Take charge of the door has become a basketball court, I have been able to travel to places far away from home, the sky has no marginal... I long for quiet contentment to happiness - finish should do every day, there is enough time on writing.
When high school. Burning hot summer, the two tree outside the window the cicada cried throughout the summer. I sit in the classroom, the fan tickle creaking, waiting for the math teacher handed out the examination paper. Read aloud to my name, to see his glasses under frowned, estimated to take an examination of well. My intuition is always right, the examination at random into the under the desk. Heard that the scores the highest close to full marks, voice print. I looked out of the window, turned the wielders of anguish to the science department heads are come from? Maybe they are think we these arts head is also come from? I can't help but see something.
Late at night, sit by the window, open the book and began to write words. Guess: the language is suitable for my head, text is my home. Life's problems, many cannot solve at that moment, I can only through the way of writing write down the whole process of thinking, encourage yourself, give yourself hope, recorded a growth process. It is let I always insist on your original towards happiness, I started to believe that I can be with toward the place from where the spring flowers.
Weekend morning, I woke up in a quiet moment, warm, pleasant room, pick a book from a list of prose where the sun is read. Afternoon, back bag, went to the park for a walk alone, look around the scenery. At night, picked up the pen to start writing text. I repeat in this time of life, believes that this can go to happiness.
Door's paddy field, the sky is a bamboo forest surrounded, every time look up at the sky, I yearn for the unknown people and things outside, hope that the future can be different life.
When studying. Back I get up early every day, my father bought the little red school bag to school, all the way in your last night to recite the text, the old card, he thought, pulling the GouWeiBaCao beside. Soon begin to do morning reading, everyone as usual go to the designated person sat down, and began to recite. When they are about to start reciting, I also see a few eye to close the books. Time minutes tick in the past, many people have returned to his seat, took out the textbooks to the class reading, I also turning the eyeball to wonder what is the next line. I am on the way just now clearly already memorized... Wondering if my memory. Such anguish to recite the day until after the college entrance examination. I don't understand, those to recite when whistle... But, the characteristics of unwilling in drives me stubborn against this "fact".
I began to write diary. Late at night, the sky outside the window the clear, visible around the house, like dawn. Sliding a pen on the book, occasionally stop refers to static thinking, should always have a way of memory is suitable. I believe, and hard to find. Later, I will think of these texts as many images, and many of the stories, reciting is fun and easy. This confirms what I believe.
Take charge of the door has become a basketball court, I have been able to travel to places far away from home, the sky has no marginal... I long for quiet contentment to happiness - finish should do every day, there is enough time on writing.
When high school. Burning hot summer, the two tree outside the window the cicada cried throughout the summer. I sit in the classroom, the fan tickle creaking, waiting for the math teacher handed out the examination paper. Read aloud to my name, to see his glasses under frowned, estimated to take an examination of well. My intuition is always right, the examination at random into the under the desk. Heard that the scores the highest close to full marks, voice print. I looked out of the window, turned the wielders of anguish to the science department heads are come from? Maybe they are think we these arts head is also come from? I can't help but see something.
Late at night, sit by the window, open the book and began to write words. Guess: the language is suitable for my head, text is my home. Life's problems, many cannot solve at that moment, I can only through the way of writing write down the whole process of thinking, encourage yourself, give yourself hope, recorded a growth process. It is let I always insist on your original towards happiness, I started to believe that I can be with toward the place from where the spring flowers.
Weekend morning, I woke up in a quiet moment, warm, pleasant room, pick a book from a list of prose where the sun is read. Afternoon, back bag, went to the park for a walk alone, look around the scenery. At night, picked up the pen to start writing text. I repeat in this time of life, believes that this can go to happiness.