The memory of the tide suddenly struck. Like flickering slide in front of them one by one flash.
The text of these scattered, I gave you commemorate. Our youth and love, and dry years.
- Inscription
A friend of mine asked me, who hurt the heart, is able to love again.
Her on the phone to tell her his story. The silence of the morning, surrounded by her voice. I listened to the whisper came over the phone, a wet heart. The sun's light from the windows of the crack through the shot and a new day will begin. Her grief finally hysteria, tears gently dropped on the floor, issued crisp sound. Her voice was begging has been incoherent. She said that a new day, how can I do.
Hang up the phone before the moment, she thought of that problem. Hurt in the heart, can not love again.
The moment she cries, I also lost language. To her comfort, only silence. Her tears burst the moment, my mind was broken. Like dried river bed of the water, shocking in front of drying up. Leaving a channel of deep cracks, like love to break away from injuries.
Again where his sweet resurgence.
I clearly remember her grief after the loss fake oakley sunglasses, like ashes, like the silence. Now, she and happy. The end of the road, happily followed him to walk. Her tears, she was crying, she was hurt in the heart, have been buried in a turbulent time. Perhaps, when she decided to let go, think of them together the day. Spring, the scorching sun, and autumn, powder makeup jade puzzle. With them through rings, or large or small, densely packed with the fate of the blank.
Seven years. Her love of seven years, back and forth. Her in a different ear to talk about their bittersweet story. Sometimes, a little subtle twists and turns will be blowing hot and cold in the mutual suspicion and stubborn. Thought had been to the last moment of break. Slander each other, taunt each other. Then, in some lonely early in the morning, from the phone, I heard her sob. She said that I thought could easily be forgotten him, but I was wrong. I began to miss him. Humble tears in full bloom in the darkness. This time, no one saw, nor heard. Night after the tears withered. The sadness, the tears washed away. Like body hair, gently cut the irrelevant. She really can forget everything after night.
In fact, forget a price to pay. Too costly, so choose all over again. Composite surface, but revisit the familiar. Happy, sad, will forget. Blink of an eye, has grown up and mature.
Moreover, the case for seven of love. Those who did not pass through the already crumbling love, how can we have been strong.
Perhaps love is initially a gamble. Is the fate or the fate that can not be distraction, easily believe that the wording of the divergent. Embrace of wandering from one to another embrace, removed non-stop, but no warmth. Gradually, the passion goes out, continue courage and reason. This too delicate to love, destined to Momo who died at the time of desolation. They learn to be mature.
Some love begins with the two-phase memorable. Their single-mindedness, exhausted youth and feelings, and the pure freedom. They left each other's gaps, like the film on a blank gap. Because the two sides have the freedom, it will be perfect. Get lost, have become the lingering stigma of memory. Drifted further and further away on the road fake oakleys, and happiness like Wuban dense, lingering. They learned to grow.
I think, because of love, we have an unforgettable years. Because love has grown. Because of the love, we are mature. In time, tears, youth and dreams are intertwined with non-stop fermentation, into memory.
Tumi flowers, love Nirvana.