The City of Time, the Gate of Memory

Life, is a passing in the rush of years, passing through young children, leaving innocence; passing through ignorance, leaving simple beauty; passing through youth, leaving moving strong; passing through pale hair in late autumn, leaving a light and easy. We have been constantly, in their own city of time around and around, passing familiar or unfamiliar lanes and alleys, passing the bright and uncertain lights, passing the new pavilion fresh scenery never passed, but also passing countless times the old flowers of the mountains and water, rushing through, occasionally stopping tired feet for a long time, or with a couple of sunset, fireworks love; or a small family happy, laughing and cheerful; or a person in January, the wind to write poetry!

Although not every journey to the mountains and rivers are clear and moving, but also full of full belly; although not every full effort to get what you want, but also no regrets and no complaints; although not every meeting are no regrets, but also a sense of warmth. The long years passed by, all the past events, all the glittering drops, finally by the long wind and rain of the years, washed into black and white broken memories. We are on the road, sometimes frightened, sometimes exhausted, when frightened, will open the door of memory locked in the heart, find some courage, gain some strength; exhausted, pillowed with the memory of the long-standing warmth, do an appendix of spring dreams, the heart is bright as the beginning, tiredness is also with a fragrant warm dream, far away, and then far away!

A long road, we are a long time looking for people, is a former life covenant promised to return to the people, but also in a hurry away from the passengers, is a lot of unintentional chance encounters, accidental acquaintance but had to be hurriedly separated from the passengers; a life of love, we are the people who pay the heart, for the fate and meet the seclusion of the people who do not forget to pay this heart, but also the negative heart of the people, and failed to come and go for us to pay their hearts; all the way to the dust of love, flying dance, or a thousand of the heart. The sky is the limit, or thousands of miles away from each other, this heart is negative to his heart, his heart is negative to this heart. What you get may not be deeply beloved; and deeply beloved, but often deep love is shallow!

Until one day, the story of the spring, was thrown out of the siege of time, deeply locked in the memory of the door, and each of our youthful face of the exquisite, but also by the frost of the years erosion of a thousand holes. So, we deeply understand that some people, is used to miss the memorial, some people, is used to accompany a lifetime, some people, is destined to strangers, no words to say goodbye, and some people, is destined to owe a lifetime. The people you miss, you never forget; the people you owe, you can't repay. The word "human" is easy to write, but difficult to do; the word "heart" is easy to write, but difficult to understand. The world is a long journey, a journey of wind and rain a life, in this long run of life, we just, all the way to pay, all the way to owe, in the love and no love between wandering hesitation!

I don't know how many people, the same as me, like to use a shallow clear years of thin pen, the purple stranger in the red dust, the heart of the unspeakable, the eyes of the sorrow, with the warmth of the text, the fondness into a moving and sobbing small poem, or a warm into a short chapter of relief. The actual word "lyric", who in our must pass the intersection, chanting a song of joy, quietly waiting to meet us into the landscape forever; and who in the depths of our memories, frequently swaying into a window of quiet beauty, keenly looking forward to embrace with us into the unchanging landscape; who in our dreams, a piece of ice heart alone, earnestly wishing to read with us quietly into the tranquil stay hidden.

We all long for the person we love to be with us forever, and the person we read about to be well. The word "fate" makes too many people break their hearts, it is difficult to find the cause and effect, but also difficult to understand the reason. A journey to the mountains and water has a journey to the mountains and water love trip, a curtain of dreams has a curtain of dreams do not give up, this journey, distant and long, to hide how much do not give up, to heartbreak how much love trip, also is not known. We are finally a grain of red dust, but also a mortal heart, in the leisure time years, can only let these folded in the time of the trickle of memories around the finger knocking heart. The heart of sorrow in the sunset of the residual light of a bear, and in a flowering dream quietly silent, swirling in the heart of the love, the quiet language of the years stained into a poetic flow of years.

The most important thing is that you can be sure that you are going to be able to get the most out of your life. In the late spring, the flowers fall, welcome a sweet petal, around the finger fragrance; summer lotus in the early bloom, waiting for a drop of clear rain, smile and tenderness; maple red mountains, waiting for a light cool breeze, the landscape into a dream; winter snow Ying Ying, hope a budding to be released, shallow drink of joy. Perhaps, every person who will eventually meet is a wish made before the Buddha; or perhaps, every person who will eventually part is a dream broken in a red dust encounter. Between coming and going, the mountains and waters are thick with love, but they have become the wind and smoke on the stranger!

The years are not old, thoughts are not central, the heart is still year after year; time is changing, love is unpredictable, memory is still full of heart tip; Shaohua smoke and clouds, fate comes and goes, it is you is me and him. In this scroll of time, we chase the rain wings of our thoughts, love the flow of the years, or clear joy or leisurely sigh; in this paper and ink, thoughts fly, the sky is boundless, the cape is boundless.

In the city of years, we meet deep in fate, but finally separated sometimes; in the door of memory, we know each other deep in love, but eventually will never say goodbye. No matter who we meet, who we love, who we work with, and the little bit of sadness and joy we experience, we will know that some people, loved, is happiness; some love, had, is eternal; some things, lost, only to know how to cherish; some things, done, is not in vain this life!

Grateful for all the things experienced, regardless of the good and bad; grateful for all the people met, regardless of the separation. I'm grateful for all the things that we have lost and had, the years are not waiting for people, but the memories have always been, accompanied by you and me. If one day, we have to forget each other, it must also be on the other side of the red road, a dream of smiling together; if I do not want to forget, please forgive my selfishness, even if, you do not want to remember me!

The city of the years, blooming with a flower that does not fall, called memories; memories of the door, warming a thousand-year-old pot of wine, called the fate. The world of all kinds of fate, but a light word, together with a lifetime, faintly keep each other; separated in a hurry, faint nostalgia. A certain year, a certain month, a certain time, you have smiled and come; a certain year, a certain month, a certain time, I have smiled and walked, this edge this love, enough!