The fleeting time is the same, but the heart is old.

Time is wasted, decades are like a day and a night. All of a sudden, for no reason, I want to cry.

Time, in this way, in looking back on the prospect, around; fleeting, in this way, in the circle, never to return.

Time flies, time is like water, but I don't know when, my heart seems to be old and numb. Obviously only 22 years old, but as if the old frightening, life seems to be lifeless, leaving only a heartbeat to repeat the same melody.

The world seems to be still, why can't you see the gorgeous colors and hear the colorful sounds. The colorful world is staged during the day, but at night it is an one-man pantomime under the curtain of night. Sunshine, wind and rain, snow and ice, stars and moon, all condensed into a short day and night, eyes open, looking at the hasty interpretation of thousands of years of repeated fairy tales. The clouds fell in the sky, and there was no trace of drifting by; in the days from winter to spring, the geese no longer flew north, blooming a season of life in the scorching humidity of the south, unwilling to blindly pursue exhaustion.

Ignorantly open one eye, looking at this bustling world during the day; if looming brilliant, is a day and a place of nothingness, a mirage filled with red sunset stunning; the scene has not changed, life is getting old, the old man of the Spring and Autumn period will once again stand on the Sichuan, how to repeat the words of the deceased, such as Sifu.

Open another window, open the eyes of the night, the empty sky, inlaid with countless eyes of the ages, shed a tear on the night, reflected by the moonlight, like an eternal soul, nailed in the eternal sky, looking at the past and the future. The fleeting years annotate the beauty of the night; the shuttle life is sad in the music of Erquan. A person, small in the vast expanse of heaven and earth, even if you are floating, it is impossible to notice. The cohesion of the sea, the confusion of mulberry fields, is doomed to no roots of the land, how so floating, in the fleeting years, light, comfortable, dancers trace of dust. Everything, pass by, even if there will be a short stay, do not go to greed, is the same smile, with the wind. Nothing will stop and stay when we need it most. As the years go by, the world is like a cloud of the past, not standing forever for everyone, memory, but also a scratch in the world of mortals, with a body that will never be complete.

One day, at a certain moment, if you still remember, it is just a vague scenery, a pain that can not be recalled. Look forward, look back, in the endless universe, how can there be a reference to find the direction before and after? Suddenly looking back, no surprise, no anger, the direction has become no fixed text, random tapping on the keyboard, if the years are still there, continue to rise and fall in these years, close the eyes you do not want to see, and break away.

The invisible world, the invisible self.

Once upon a time, I was young and frivolous.

When was the spring flower and autumn moon in that year?

That year, I fell in love with the top floor and worried about Fu Xin ci.

In that year, the streamer was easy to throw people away, red cherries and green plantains.

That year, the dream in the heart of love corner.

Turn the familiar but unfamiliar street corner, submerged in the ensuing crowd, where the story of yesterday and today is staged again and again, we take our youth to interpret tomorrow, passing through the classroom with loud books and the crowded green field, how many expectations and dreams are about to set sail from here. However, what awaits us is not only the beautiful dreams, but also the pain of Phoenix Nirvana.

Once upon a time, when we looked at the brilliant stars overhead, the stars of that night still filled our hearts, but there were no tears of sadness for the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl. Because I grow up, I no longer believe in fairy tales.

Like Peter Pan, he can never grow up. But in the torrent of time, we gradually grow up. Once the dream, I do not know where is drifting, fragile and sensitive mind has been covered with layers of dust of the world, but we call it growth.

But we are still kind, when the dust around us falls on our hearts, we wave our hands and wipe it away, but we have to endure the pain of our hearts that we can't bear to touch. Young and ignorant, we do not understand the rules of the adult world.

When we wake up from the fairy tale, we pretend to be strong in the face of the world, lonely and arrogant. The poverty of the family and the pressure of going to school spur our hearts, regardless of the muddy and bumpy road ahead.

Young children are simple and ignorant angels, kind enough to be loved. He will learn to hold his head high so as not to let the tears fall from his eyes. Although he is very hurt, he will pretend to be strong and turn around, smile, and tell you: I am fine, really fine.

Life is a magnificent fireworks, we do not want to stop in place to linger, even if the head of the fire tree honeysuckle; dream, follow the song all the way forward.

I can't forget that year, there was a young man in white on a bike and a lovely girl with braids.

I can't forget that year, the grasshopper hiding in the grass and the paper kite floating into the sky.

I can't forget those fleeting songs.

I can't forget that we were once young and frivolous.

The time is still the same, the fleeting time continues, but the old heart.