Since alive, might as well

Since alive, might as well be like water, dribs and drabs are real life. Often listen to you sigh with emotion, a person is not lazy, also not vulgar, more a lot of talent, but not necessarily live. This trap is always tormenting you, causing you to fall, often after a brief insight, into a deeper ignorance. From then on your locked brow originated a long river of sorrow, only in the meteor sky with strings in exchange for their own lonely story. You say that the young heart will not open an umbrella into such as crying rain, only in the morning will not wake up in the swaying of the millennium dream. This time, though you are still a mountain, is premature desolation. Your wandering experience has convinced you that youth is just a black title told by the night. However, this should not be your whole story, because your bright eyes still prove the early spring rain, you should shake off a body of wind and frost in the flying rain, with your thin fingers on the earth to write: I thank life, believe in the future! The same is the silence for the preface, this time your book opened a new plot, you get up to the strange grass island, let the sad clouds on your face slowly into the sky, you carefully drying the wet youth, let the youth become a proud song, gurling into the ears of The Times. I saw your flowing long hair to absorb the strong wind, heard your life in the bamboo forest rattling, so you really began to learn to laugh, learn to live, learn to silently carve a passion, a faith, a kind of upward power in your young heart wall. Life, need to slowly precipitate its value in the warp and weft of time and space, although at that time the universe silent, heaven and earth do not wake up; Life, also should be beyond the twilight of the day after the start again, so that all the flow of blood and enthusiasm, re infected with the sun's brilliant and heavy fingerprints.Since alive, might as well be like water, dribs and drabs are real life. Often listen to you sigh with emotion, a person is not lazy, also not vulgar, more a lot of talent, but not necessarily live. This trap is always tormenting you, causing you to fall, often after a brief insight, into a deeper ignorance. From then on your locked brow originated a long river of sorrow, only in the meteor sky with strings in exchange for their own lonely story. You say that the young heart will not open an umbrella into such as crying rain, only in the morning will not wake up in the swaying of the millennium dream. This time, though you are still a mountain, is premature desolation. Your wandering experience has convinced you that youth is just a black title told by the night. However, this should not be your whole story, because your bright eyes still prove the early spring rain, you should shake off a body of wind and frost in the flying rain, with your thin fingers on the earth to write: I thank life, believe in the future! The same is the silence for the preface, this time your book opened a new plot, you get up to the strange grass island, let the sad clouds on your face slowly into the sky, you carefully drying the wet youth, let the youth become a proud song, gurling into the ears of The Times. I saw your flowing long hair to absorb the strong wind, heard your life in the bamboo forest rattling, so you really began to learn to laugh, learn to live, learn to silently carve a passion, a faith, a kind of upward power in your young heart wall. Life, need to slowly precipitate its value in the warp and weft of time and space, although at that time the universe silent, heaven and earth do not wake up; Life, also should be beyond the twilight of the day after the start again, so that all the flow of blood and enthusiasm, re infected with the sun's brilliant and heavy fingerprints.