No sleep tonight, and turned the old photos gradually mottled in sight, not past angry. I think time is sometimes nonsensical madness of treason, don't know where the youth mature turning point, but do not know who will be in the troubled youth who in the youth grows, so I still think.

For a long time no calm down, combing the mess of the past clouds, rare night without sleep, the window has a month call, the wind outside the door linger. For a long time ago, and friends to talk to talk to his novels, his novels with those of the past, heart up waves, I seem to have for a long time without the past thin spread, those falling in time in the personnel already in a crowded out of the trail, the young face embedded in the dusty Notepad a No one shows any interest in.

Now, I decided to put a thing of the past are cut, the high school, who had been in my youth flowery face once again beating my girlish window, but then I donned the hedgehog skin, not too much nor too restless, enron.

Remember, the boy had some strange youth in the humble living, humble to the dust deep bottom, how many midnight, he was a man hiding in the corner is full of lonely sobs, it seems that even the effort to turn around out, leaving only a skin loose on the streets. Sometimes he was thinking, "if there were not so many good unions, weak, would it be so much less head and loneliness?". Now, not so much if, with all but traveler just pain, or sweet or it will be rolled into the dust years finally fell in the sea of stars, which once struggled in the youth in the youth, finally will be secretly on a dark night still open even before the flowers, even after thorns everywhere covered all over with cuts and bruises.