Today is the last day of the year, a few dozen hours, is the new year. Looked at the calendar printed on the "fate of poetry in winter, spring painting map" of the last page feeling a lot of heart. Many years, when the time came to me, always wanted to write something to yourself, what always wanted to stay here. 365 days between unaware how this so slowly in the years to shed the hourglass, not instant. Past at the moment as if the fingers of sand in my memory slowly disperses scattered to ... ... This year is not an instant later, another 365 days, in my line of sight further away. 2010 belongs to me only the last ten hours of time. It really is the essay should be the "last day" proposition was. Looking back over the past year brought to my life, helplessness and desolation can be described as the heart is full of suffering and too many tears. Salt is not short days do not live every day with the quiet life, nothing has changed. Perhaps, some have changed, but some still persist. Without fear has made me a more courageous and stubborn transformation, while the compromise is exciting time for me to forget in a depression. 365 day and night a lot of things happened, it seems very close, it would seem very far. Looking at the back and between, I tell myself is: this year has passed, not instant, I should re-head, and not afraid of failure! Today's state of the cycle of years to their original polished edges and corners. Water of life is to change the appearance, not the mind.
This year is not an instant later, my heart is still in the enthusiastic. Fill in the blanks with all the colors, because the world that this is a true love. The spring, the father of the Five Seven of Weeks, one hundred days of the thoughts and spent a memorial. Throughout the summer, spent seven days in the country, repair the tomb for his father, completed the commitment of my parents; autumn harvest, busy with their own business, there is no vast fortune, but also to maintain life; winter approaching, they began to prepare the inventory, prepare for tomorrow's arrival. Is in such a dull day in the came, and this year has passed, I would not say good or bad, because such is life, life is so, do not believe I have to tell myself the fate of a return, which are attributed to Or blame on fate. Tomorrow the wind in the years prior to heal the pain of growth, I have been unaware of the repeated joys and sorrows of Early. Looking back on past years, some old things inadvertently found that the intermittent fragments, is an image and a nostalgia. Years of vicissitudes, and older carved in the palm of the palm. Quiet life, looking at the surging palm clear signs of aging, to calm the heart in the palm of years of life in the Four Seasons to visit again.
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