Essay 3

Out of the window, the wind, how much the wind through the window screening, wrapped in light tobacco, permeates every corner of the room, I quietly listening to the wind rustled hair tip, the wind flow over a slice of the absolute, suddenly, a kind of indescribable lost.Met a no return, the wind blows, scattered, only leaving alone lonely figure and a pair of incomplete picture.I have been use adhere to insist, but every story rises under the sink, have only themselves to blame is always can't catch the warm moment, and every gaze, only ACTS to dye the eyeful of burnout.Wind continue to blowing, through time and space, all the dust, burying those messy footprints, the colours of the multicolored faded past time, when all is tender stay faded years, I don't know, the wind will blow me to where, hovering around the time of the ferry, I began to see the scenery around me, everything is very beautiful...
Loiter time frivolous and impulsive, a pot of drifting, and product and I do and always keep chasing the footsteps of time, constantly looking for can become eternal scene, along the way, but always can't find the end.With a period of the past, I silently the reciprocal of the pale and gorgeous past, don't know how much a romantic time, fisherman's song and sing for how many years later.I count the time, everything seemed to have gone far, all of the chapters, as the calendar yellowing gradually become incomplete, some stubborn, will eventually melt on time.When joyful dance, I can not afford time to carefully review, the fate of reincarnation, is urging me steps of the long march, however, the vast sky, but I don't know in which direction the, perhaps, really far away from a distance, as far as my eyes can't touch, and maybe, what also have no distance, only pale cloudy days.
Time is lost, light a warm season, lonely the passing of time.Years gorgeous coat, I'll miss turn head to look at, but found, the years of wind and frost, already erased all the smile is like a flower, I alone on a corner of the, looking back at the heavy floating past, never know the empty bags, only tired.Listen to the years in the long river flows slowly, how to run a wisp of ink, with gentle words and complained of a kind of mood, record every moving and warm, can be in the hands of the pen, how to also could not write a heart feeling.Walk on the changes in temperature of the time, I began to doubt, in this world, whether really exist forever.Time like a sword, time, so, please allow me to wipe a little smile into attitude to the old time, then look at the distant to the wind, far away the cloud, let disappear from years.