Six months

If a person all eyes are focused on the past, then he should be old. Memories is the delay time for the elderly, where records all traces of the day contest. Recalling the early days, in fact, is obsessed with his young look. Deliberately ignored on the front of the photocathode, which itself is a time of discontent and resistance. After all, time is not old, and old people.

Who confrontation with the time? , Service, or is not satisfied, the final will be tripped over it. You, willing or unwilling, will eventually become as dust.

Time and space, life is really fragile! "History records only the great achievements of a few people, others speak convergence is silent."

As a person, I can not audible. If only this life, we can not take anything away. At the very least, can leave something.

Memories of an old man, perhaps too deep too heavy, as people sad, because they have no future.

Memories of a youth, perhaps too light, too light, Sentimental. We have so far way to go, it seems that sights should not have in the past.

I want to say, memories of a summary of a fragment, the inventory of some experience; introspection, study and understanding, more practice. It makes our life more sober, more investment. Perhaps, squarely facing the past is now respected.

Looking back maybe do not have nostalgia, it is a journey to find self - a travel alone on the road. The staggered footprints from the mud out of the, has solidified into a colorful pattern. Passing, miss, has become the background of youth grand and gorgeous color.

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The bus is most accustomed stupidly place, perhaps its irregular jitter shattered time gap. Similar bumps, similar tired, come rushing towards my mind. Through the window on the actual situation of overlapping shadows I saw from afar - an equally crowded bus, that exhausted the other place girl, she was like a discordant note, humbly trying to hide others with people in

Who would have heard it, she is mumbling study accent: "Your mother is calling you home for dinner!" Sound of the village over the flow around the subpoena. Suffered a blizzard, all home-related associations appear to be touching.

Is his, so I began to take the snow.

Six years have passed, and then look back on this relationship, and I thank him. I believe that everyone I encounter are in helping their growth. He let me understand: a man to be worthy of their own suffering of. He told me: I'm alive!

......

Day after day, on both sides of the street leaves from green, yellow until my days in Xi'an has been the past six months.

Six months, the rental in the humble hut has tasted cheap snacks familiar with a lot of street routes, the longest time holding the lowest salary. Ordinary as an ordinary video store salesperson, working to bring the only fun I can open any one CD discs to enjoy those melodic beat. However, often taken the shop, I was lonely, listless. Alone in a foreign land, I have a lot of freedom. Freedom, but also means that alone means that too many choices can not select. Never expect, the excessive freedom actually let me know what to do.

Next evening, at ten o'clock. City where half of the people has been sinking into sleep, but I was in no hurry to return to the rental house, I often seemingly random but extremely serious kicking pebbles on the side of the road, if we can successfully with a stone kicked the door, I put it installed in his pocket. Back to the house to keep up, as if brought back a tacit partner. Sometimes, turn to the morning shift, four in the afternoon you can out of the shop. I like a full loafer, no work to pass the time. Right away, or go to the newsstand to look at the month "readers" often turn without buy the cash-strapped, boss has quite unhappy;, or go to the underground passage to listen to the live performances of the wandering singer. In addition, it seems that there is no better place to go. Go left, had innocently sitting on the stone steps of the Cross roadside, the number of traffic lights, the residence time at different times of the day. Then, heartless rejection proceed, to wrapped LiangXiuQingFeng go home.

I like an unclaimed child wandered off, strange and unhappy. Like what, like waiting.