If life is a circle, we separate in the first, is not it will eventually be reunited?
Rare in June, when the wind over the trees, hot air from the ground over the instep, step by step and easily go. Whirling shadows of time, in the absence of waiting quietly in the corner.light, the youth exudes taste tempting.
Suddenly realize that the beauty of nature has nothing to do with feelings.
Or your lack of strong starting Mariner Park, and the time is not forever baffle island. Sad and lonely smile in the back sleeping, but wake up in the past also.
Looking up at the sky 45 degrees,sad.
The sky, as always, as white as a sheet, you are desperate thorn birds, the clouds disappeared through the wail of the space in the opposition.
Time and space of infinite chanel earrings latitude, we are so small.
Faint sigh concentrated in the hot weather, the suppression of respiration and heartbeat.
Never know how the story began, as the starting point of standing on the end of timevision blurred.
What season of the number of burial and the end of the parting it? In the pitching moment, silence the time of the estimate of respiratory frequency and tangled thoughts.
A lot of time with our injuriesimminent or has occurred in the story, like the butterfly pupa cocoon, small flat in a narrow space, to forget the passage of time.
Perhaps, I was still tired, and tired of all sweating movement. But I still feel that sense of pain, when I looked at the teacher training covered the sun39s face, young, listening to him slowly said, he will be the last time a physical education teacher. I turned his head slowly for small T said.
Expression of disdain on her face never changed.
On the first, on the end of the day, no one cares too, is not it?
Fall outside the line of sight of the debris, at some point suddenly remembered.
Remember sometimes stagger the pace in chase of the runway covered with gravel, sometimes I remember the air hot sweat taste, remember that sometimes skip class with barely disguised pleasure at the small lie ... ...
How we are growing, but also of how old?
Waseda those listening to the wind a sad note, is not frozen at a certain period of time no longer?
Memory page of paper yellowing light green grass nature of the sap of the painted text,dust in the air into a room the color of old.
Those stories, is not it never happened?
In the open playground, hopscotch.
The final step in turning beautiful, those who like a long story would never end, it easily on the end of the painting, like gaps in the season sadly short-lived.
quiet life into the station marker, in every place full story.
Those things with us a long time, melting in the summer, with the natural flow of blood. At that time, the end of branded light signs, nameless sad.
Close their eyes and ignore what kind of outcome.
Rare in June, when the wind over the trees, hot air from the ground over the instep, step by step and easily go. Whirling shadows of time, in the absence of waiting quietly in the corner.light, the youth exudes taste tempting.
Suddenly realize that the beauty of nature has nothing to do with feelings.
Or your lack of strong starting Mariner Park, and the time is not forever baffle island. Sad and lonely smile in the back sleeping, but wake up in the past also.
Looking up at the sky 45 degrees,sad.
The sky, as always, as white as a sheet, you are desperate thorn birds, the clouds disappeared through the wail of the space in the opposition.
Time and space of infinite chanel earrings latitude, we are so small.
Faint sigh concentrated in the hot weather, the suppression of respiration and heartbeat.
Never know how the story began, as the starting point of standing on the end of timevision blurred.
What season of the number of burial and the end of the parting it? In the pitching moment, silence the time of the estimate of respiratory frequency and tangled thoughts.
A lot of time with our injuriesimminent or has occurred in the story, like the butterfly pupa cocoon, small flat in a narrow space, to forget the passage of time.
Perhaps, I was still tired, and tired of all sweating movement. But I still feel that sense of pain, when I looked at the teacher training covered the sun39s face, young, listening to him slowly said, he will be the last time a physical education teacher. I turned his head slowly for small T said.
Expression of disdain on her face never changed.
On the first, on the end of the day, no one cares too, is not it?
Fall outside the line of sight of the debris, at some point suddenly remembered.
Remember sometimes stagger the pace in chase of the runway covered with gravel, sometimes I remember the air hot sweat taste, remember that sometimes skip class with barely disguised pleasure at the small lie ... ...
How we are growing, but also of how old?
Waseda those listening to the wind a sad note, is not frozen at a certain period of time no longer?
Memory page of paper yellowing light green grass nature of the sap of the painted text,dust in the air into a room the color of old.
Those stories, is not it never happened?
In the open playground, hopscotch.
The final step in turning beautiful, those who like a long story would never end, it easily on the end of the painting, like gaps in the season sadly short-lived.
quiet life into the station marker, in every place full story.
Those things with us a long time, melting in the summer, with the natural flow of blood. At that time, the end of branded light signs, nameless sad.
Close their eyes and ignore what kind of outcome.
- 0 ratings
