but the fragrance of the memory long finish

1, accidentally opened, floret of the books.

Open by accident and floret of the books, already wither, it recorded the story of that year, and green years, silently.

Petals already scattered, sporadic to show on the sheet. Once delicate and charming color, had already lost its original color, only with a deep tunnel, faded color. The taste of heartache light, only slightly sigh with emotion, hidden in the heart.

At that time, gentle eyes is in the story; At that time, the story gentle smile; At that time, the story has a warm words, a youth of color, deep memory in my mind.

Light lay up a clove flowers, the smell of it, has dispersed, it's soft, have already dried up, but the fragrance of the memory long finish .

2, life

In the spring of life, is stirring, pure and fresh and radiant. The grass has a life of the grass, more weak and strong vitality. Flowers are the flowers of life, more protruding, laughing yan deeply drunk beauty. As with all life, there will be born, smile, and then quietly, in the long river, time slowly wither, until die.

There is always some surprise, happy; Will some sadness, end. When the flowers wither, I put it in the book, naturally air-dried, life became memories, but time became long finish.

3 days,

Days like green flag crevice of grass, oily green, gradually deep again. Day like in the book of floret, namby-pamby petals, quietly precipitation, the beauty of the ripe Unique Beauty.

The flower wilted flower, quietly hide in the book, still maintained the appearance, more mature lasting appeal, hint of peace. Childhood, like to capture the four seasons of flowers and plants, air drying in the book; Youth, like the flowers secretly, in their own page; Youth, envy the delicate and charming flowers, the pursuit of material prosperity, time in a hurry, looking back, the good times, pure taste, from the pages of this simple, simple flower, gently.

Quietly after a day and age, full of emotion and inner precipitation, make us more mature. Each day pass by, whether it is green, or old age, flavor of life, is the most beautiful, but all the memory, also in the time in the beautiful and sublimation.

4, memories

Memory is smoke on the spring field, curling into the sky, quietly spread out again, but always inadvertently, gave moved.

Memory is opened the book of the moment, when the clip in the book of this little flower and moist eyes. Ying ying, I saw in that time, gentle story.

Water of mae, pavilion, left, flowers and butterflies in language, hydrostatic heroine. Suddenly the drizzle, sprinkled on the body, soft feeling. The rain came, came to him and her. Laughter, accompanied by his call, folding to scare the light language of flowers and butterflies.

Smile, she is like the flowers, delicate and charming be about to drip. Blue hide under the leaves, and a big hands, gently remove the flower, never in a girl's hair. Another smile, so bright, like the delicate and charming flowers, reflected in the smiling face of youth. Red face peach blossom set each other off, he couldn't help to hold the soft her, at that moment, pluck flowers, is the expression of love, is together the oath. Shy face, beautiful smile, is she a definite answer.

Fine heroine in wind, rain, she hunched shoulders, slightly cold. He took off his jacket, quietly gently over the two people on the head, smiled and said, "don't let the rain, a wet your hair, don't wet your clothes, don't wet your face, a fast into my arms and let the wind and rain, out..."

Many years later, I accidentally opened the book, then send me flowers, I put it sealed in a favorite book. At the moment, you and me are old, but is sneaking back to that time again. And you, in my eyes, and a young you, while I am in the mirror