Text / Summer stuffiness, you want your happiness, you choose your options. I’m just crazy with you for this brief passing carnival - harp. You silly, the rise of attention along with the photograph of the handsome Ryoma. I don't know how long, the selling fritters grandfather cries, echoing through the alley as usual, but you, like a child, run frantically, not heading home, but going to wash small stickers. I remember those days of scorching sun, Five Fingers UK, you were like an unruly horse, barefoot, chasing birds in the sea. The sea breeze gently stroked the hair on your forehead, leaving a nice little dimple behind. You threw one pebble into the sea, shouting to make it, remembering our life in hand. When everything has lost its beauty, you are silent, the silence of the night so lonely and fearful. You are not my memories of the past, but when all this is no longer strange to me, I seem to have no reason for you not to be happy, not to be sad for you. When everything about you, such as ants, line by line, passes through my memory, amidst the precipitation field over a long time that, after all, still blows. Night, returning to sleep once again swept in, because it's pregnancy in the south, the unknown appearance of flowers led by Ying lingers in mind. A touch of persimmon flowers, like hot summer days, cool cup of jasmine tea, but cannot exchange mouthfuls, had a pair of naturally charming dimples on the sea surface. The most beautiful time, it seems, is only in the past Love’s eternal companion. Once the vows, years relentlessly hit, fragmented, but you have become the guardian of loneliness. Of your past, I can't touch or ask too much, doing more causes pain, that brings more tears. With every sentence you read, carefully, there may be sadness, hurting your lovely eyes. To you, there's no reason not to be happy, no reason to be depressed, no reason, no reason to be afraid...sad... brushing my life, also describes different sections of your tenderness. You say that everyone is called children, Montblanc pen, then your own will grow up, actually, do you know? In each of you, loving eyes, you will always grow up, even though all the time, are calling his children. The taste, you already slowly in the memories, memories become a habit if it is hard to quit, but do not hope to re-interpret the past. Some waits, after all, a relentless rendezvous alone, hoping his eyes overflow is the last tear, because love should not let a guilty person go. Songs downtown, I hope not Own Prison, no longer weeping rain, time goes by, you will suddenly find that distance is not the old Love and stained dust. I believe you will like Sakura at night, I do not know who the tears that wet the bed, and when I quietly asked, you can't remember. This has never been the answer to this inwardly flavors crest, I know, not remembering the words, not everyone can do. How so, ah, one I do not know how to write simple words, but carries some unspeakable past. We separated the horizon, I only wish that scarecrow in a field, overlooking your bit to go way back to your Xibei. MSI purple flow, I promise you the joy of the next light; bird of paradise bloom, and I'm off a world of happiness. A million years, come to a close, the roots of silent, raw silk towel fragrant tears, wind and rain passed, it is often accompanied by colorful and varied. Quiet night, I seem to see, you have it on a small dimple on the beach, and I, tears dripping wet, but the long blank piece on the keyboard. A red raw silk, white, black hair; Yilianyoumeng, thin yellow. Life a love song, you only spectral absolute beauty; present ink red raw silk, painted only wish you happiness in this life. A Love Song, only the roots of raw silk for the spectrum of your tears.