I so for the years

I slowly moved into my body... -- Transtromer

But what about the years? In other words, what kind of confusing world is behind the time? For a year. I wish I could figure that out. Especially at this moment -- one day after I graduated from junior high school, I was holding the group photo of my junior high school graduation, carefully screening the years, how this difficult to capture things gradually lost in a frame of photographs that will not fade, and then turned into nothing in the subsequent memory......

It was a year later and Han returned to the campus to visit the old: a year later, not much change. Kind and familiar with the school uniform, is a younger brother younger sisters a vivid face - they are our past tense. "You wait here while I go in and have a look. I wonder if I can get in?" She looked herself up and down, then walked lightly through the door and seemed to disappear smoothly behind a metal gate that looked much the same as a year ago. The afternoon sun beat down from the oblique, shining on the slightly empty surrounding. I squinted into the daylight, trying to remember the middle of the day when I was in junior high. Is that what it looks like? I don't think I know for sure.

"Not too much, not too much." In a moment she came out with a look of satisfaction -- a little satisfaction that the porter had not found her.

Climb the familiar seventh floor on foot, looking down the window, the square in the middle of the trees are still green, always reflecting their unyielding vitality. The tiredness of climbing the stairs vanished in a moment, as if for only the surge of the moment -- the white painted railings still retained their pencil handwriting. Inspiring words, it seems, should only stay here, in a unnoticed corner...

C class brand is still hanging in there, on the card, the class have to write down how many glorious course in our class, this is our real side by side, 37 hero embrace together, form C shape of letters, and the internal C, is can always create a warm atmosphere of the family - sitting in the first row of the middle, is no longer I, but she, Still taking notes carefully, meticulously...

The light reflected from the glass seemed to drift on a blade. Yes, a knife. It has a sharp edge. It cut off my junior high school most should remember frivolous, haggard, bloody and restless.

When I reached the podium and looked at the spread of grass and the shadows of the branches swaying gently in the old afternoon space, I wondered: Had I really been hopping here? The years like a stone slowly sink into the bottom of memory, silent, and it is a kind of what is it? I really can't know.

To the meal time, I, stop at the top of the dining hall, thin aftertaste, all these once the shadow -- is a so positive to eat the girl, a lunge toward the dining hall, it seems, she, is me...

What kind of time is this? In the middle of the memory of the thick dust deposition on the junior high school, about that has been obliterated the youth -- they are vague and sadness in the past's look makes me - this is completely lost life, vigorous as if we were passing by tracks one of the most peaceful period, abandoned all hope forever, quietly in everyone to place a silent ZhuHou, Contains all the secrets of youth, bare of cover. When you come back to the depths of your memory, you always dare not go any further, always have to stop, carefully and truly feel: pain, from the bottom of my heart, let you lose all courage in a moment.

I bent down deeply, deeply, in front of a large group of people immersed in the activity. I heard my throat, which had been shriveled for a year, struggle to utter the words: "I'm back."