When the sky is blue, I don't want to look up. There are more and more unknown things behind. Sometimes I don't want to express them on my face, because I don't want others to understand you, because I don't want my relatives to worry, because I understand that any expression of sadness or compassion can't tell me the share in my heart. Once sunshine, handsome, I, now only, or a back shadow in the street with lights, or in the ancient long rain lane met lilac girl, early understand that this is Dai Wangshu's deception, or perhaps only he met it! Occasionally a few stars can not be described as stars, because they are afraid that the beautiful stars are not suitable for their mood, so the scenery they regard does not exist. When I walked into the rain lane with my umbrella, Lilac girl has gone, leaving me When I walked into the cinema, The movie is over. There are lights left When I want to tell her I love you, She's married to someone else. I'm the only one left When I understood yesterday's silent and silent departure, When I understood yesterday's silent and silent departure, Once again today I say you have the most beautiful dawn. When I met her before the end of summer, after the rain I asked her if we would like to hold an umbrella together in this life? I would like to dry up, still can say I you. I want to ask where my heart is floating. If God expects me to never be rewritten, I am willing to look out of the window under the clear glass window in the morning. There is only a paper book at my fingertips. It says that if it is inconvenient for you to make a deep expectation, I can put it down forever. It only needs the constant company of the travelling guests and ask myself if I can really open up this The screen window across the world asks where the pure between the eyebrows is. Because the heart is bound, the ups and downs are not melancholy, so the journey is not so reckless. How many looks back in the world, how many faces can there be in the memory, how many necks are constantly stretching and growing up, and how many people in your memory are constantly changing. Time is like a flock of birds, smoke is exhausted, light and floating Rice porridge, as thick as sand on the beach, is full of killing world, and quietly patronizes others. No, it is a rich cultivation without criticizing others. And quietness are works, while smile is poetry, smile for others is lyric, and smile for others is prose. You may have written for others seriously, until others can speak to you frankly. Quiet is sitting, looking at others, eyes do not move, but there is always a palpitation in the bottom of my heart, it is about all his memories, memories will be happiness.