The happiness of the new year

Never want to fell in the years of the foot, then began to struggle there; never hope to give their own time, because there always have your own way. Time may take care of a person, will not be alone on which one cruel, gently leave ripples, leaving a question, then around, start winding, start a lingering; in inadvertently, it will leave a hint of sadness, in my mind, because in the past the years have left quietly, and the new year began wandering. Never sleepy, but every time I open my eyes, the past has been broken.

This is winter, those memories of the past, will continue to create ripples. There is no drinking, or a few sorrows, and I don't know when it has come to mind. Those sad, and those melancholy, in the heart is constantly rippling. I never gave up hope. I never had much hope. But my heart still wanted to freeze the winter. My memory didn't show those memories in my mind. But the past will appear blurred, let me see not clear, but will continue to taste the bitter years, and the winter bleak, and those few life silk not much joy, but more is the cold.

The trees were already bare and without leaves. They began to have a lot of sadness, and there were many confused, gaunt and unwilling to face, so they began to sleep. The wind, the mountain climbing; and my memory, has been climbing the dream. There is no warm and moist memory, nor any prudence, so there is no barrier to appear in front of the eyes, in the continuous winding. This is a lonely road, but also a vague Road, the original is a clear and visible Road, but has been covered by a lot of things, but also in constant euphemism. The time in the memory is so constant.

Once the sun, there are those longings, slowly flowing, in the wind of memory slowly agitation. Many times in the dream, there will be the past hazy, but that moment is no longer awake. Look at the past lonely. The heart wants to keep silent. The road continues. And those flowers may have bloomed, may have exuded flowers, may have begun to change, may have begun to struggle. But how many lost. For nothing? This is the glory of the old, perhaps also the loss of the old, there is an old vision, there is an old dream. Just a lot of people, will fall into the old kiss. And the ripples of memory.

This way goes along, so that accompanied by the temptation of red dust, so that we can hardly meet with the new year, so that memory is left in mind, so that we can keep our expectation in our chest. Slowly push open the new year's door, looking at those questions, unconsciously looking back at the old memories, and the footprints, but there is no crying. All of a sudden I found that I was abandoned by time and abandoned unpolitely. Where am I? At the night of the new year. And where is the new year's night? It's my life. In the past, have hope, did not leave any waves, only fear no danger in memory.

Don't want to change anything, just want no more indifference. But the light of the years is still wandering. I do not want to have a helpless walk, that is, with the loss of the heart, but to have their own footprints, want to leave their own traces. How much scenery passes through is like a dream of oneself, but it is a reality. It is also the track of life. It hangs in memory. At ordinary times, it is put out to rub, keep it luster, and let it no longer be disturbed. It's just a pity that I didn't see the memory of the painting. The little bits of time, so walk their own loneliness. Will new year's time leave your own pride?