your heart is the place where I go to the end of the world and want to come back.
signature years, faded, leaving vaguely like, you are clearly again.
time is like rain, we are all walking in the rain, find their own umbrella, go forward, always walk to the wind stop rain, good tomorrow. Lu Xiaoman, weiweidaolai.
is a fall, and fall, autumn depression, autumn cold, autumn insects whisper. The sky is not high, no longer light clouds. Look up, the mist of the eyes. Nearby, pedestrians rush away, North South geese. The wind, no matter in the rain, will not stay, perhaps the prelude to the hearing of winter.
so, standing in the autumn to winter season ending seeing first, will always give birth to some feelings, or cold, or helpless, or the vicissitudes of life. This season is cold, after all, can not be avoided, whether or not to hibernate?
look at the roadside grass, gradually yellow, falling leaves, spin piles. Fate? Home? The wind is confused: the years are ruthless, the pedestrians are in a hurry, and the guests have no marks. Looking at the distance, the thoughts are torn for a long time, very painful…
she walked from the not distant era, read the school, not the liberation of the Chinese, a barren, but her parents have a hundred acres of land to the peasants, the fullness of life, innocent girl how happy! In the years of the great leap forward, the land of the family was brought to the collective, and the parents were starved to death, and she was adopted by the great uncle’s family. At the age of marriage, she walked into my home. At that time, my father was a cadre in the brigade. He was busy working all day, and the big events in the family fell on her shoulders. To eat in the cafeteria, and earn work points to take care of the sick, grandma and grandpa, as can be imagined more tired. A leaky roof hit even the rain, that a roaring near to the flood, flooded the village, the house was gone, a bumpy wandering life. After the flood, the people who returned home, built the house, repaired the fence, the father was a man who did not care for the home, so the house was handled by her hand. The house, finally built up, a seven or eight people crowded together, here became her whole life worry!
so, through the winter, ushered in the spring; through the summer, into the autumn. In the four seasons, the cycle of her life increased, the wind engraved with wrinkles, and the rain eroded her face. Once beautiful face, variegated flower now; once from past and present, have already changed. Time is ruthless, time is silent, she is old, old faltering. She is old, the old children and grandchildren are full, the time has the feeling, the time is quiet. She belongs to the red dust, and has been walking in this red dust, but she is eventually a traveler in this red dust!
someone says that happiness is in the eyes of others, but happiness is in your heart. Look at her deep eyes and ask her with pain: are you happy? She smiled and said, “your happiness is my happiness.”
did she lose herself? Reading her crisscross wrinkles, the heart is torn with pain: trees have rings, and where are people’s rings? In the heart?
tranquil, your heart, is the place where I want to come back to the end of the world.
bird wings, always solo; children grow up, they will have to find their own sky. And she, with her fine feet, bent down, still kept in the place where there was love, what was it, was she root? Is a group of children around her childhood, laughing and lively, even for an apple not uniform, while you bite me biting scene. Those poor life, gone for ever! Those who play the same joy?
Jian Zheng said, like every drop of wine, I can’t return to the original grapes, and I can’t get back to age. Yes, you can go back to the Xiangyixiangwei simple age? A Steamed Buns points and share it, eat them with relish; a comic book, forget to eat; a simple good word, face flowers!
give the time a little time, let the past, let the start!
last spring, the flowers bloom, there are many unable to restrain the emotions of sadness, then slowly learned to hide. Time, taught us a lot, but not how we do not old; years, the old face, but can not erase the warm memories. As the wind, rain, rain is the wind’s feet, one year, together forever!
don’t know, how long did not hug her, maybe that warm hug only belongs to the childhood, belongs to the memory. Every time I look at the lonely back, I really want to hug her from the back. The white hair, whispering silent years; more staggering figure, stung my eyes, wet my footsteps in a hurry. How many years can she go, and I can’t go to other places. The midnight sleepless, heart like water: if the adoptive parents are not in, regret too late.
‘s thin shoulders, never out of my sight. In the middle of the night, there is always a heart to hug, very light and warm. Yes, when I was a child, hugging belonged to the parents, and grew up to embrace a lover. Who was the old hug? Zhang Xiaoxian said that the feeling of hugging is good, that is the comfort of the body, the reward of the world.
to do a thousand sails, infinite red. Experienced the green, harvest maturity, in the time of the ferry, we are all traveler. Time rush, traveler in a hurry, the family blood is thicker than water, that always worried about emotion, engraved in the heart, even go farther, fly high again, where is the root of the thread, about where the intangible wins tangible, tearing you, waving your soul image sequence, lingering.
knows, some beautiful, in the heart, is the warmth; some past, recalls, tranquil best.
sometimes, really hope that time slowly, and then slowly, let her enjoy the hustle and bustle of the world, holding her hand and walked slowly, to bask in the sunny spring, summer flowers bright, sunny autumn, winter snow clean……
years, please be gentle to wait for her to warm the four seasons!