tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13253640543522488332024-02-20T11:38:22.568-05:00Endless RainDry your tears with loveKehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10476040597590052206noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1325364054352248833.post-29041297565535668142014-05-13T20:32:00.012-04:002014-05-13T21:48:23.914-04:00SenseDirectionShe doesn’t know where he is. <br />
<br />
It is probably better for her not to know. For words come as sporadic as the rains in the valleys. Is it the way that the wind pulls the water to and fro, or just the connection between them?<br />
<br />
It was the 20th of March when she first became aware of his existence. SenseDirection, his name was reminiscent of the wilderness, someone lost in a vast empty world, a sailboat drifting in the ocean completely unsure of where to go. His smile, as wide as a river, like a soft glow that invites people into his being. If only for a moment, it was freedom.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHggqrVD5R6mUTKje4DsdYyOc5p38kkN6SEOeDxaEyBHm-OZl2_LiyRdJP7MLy-6xslvmIOwdu1Wi-EMYCgql0432mlvq68uyCeogYBX3Qof7aY3P44uhRNsRLktdNZb_wHdv11lmlOX_H/s1600/rBACFFNwx6OgGcHdAADF6FcauJs808.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHggqrVD5R6mUTKje4DsdYyOc5p38kkN6SEOeDxaEyBHm-OZl2_LiyRdJP7MLy-6xslvmIOwdu1Wi-EMYCgql0432mlvq68uyCeogYBX3Qof7aY3P44uhRNsRLktdNZb_wHdv11lmlOX_H/s1600/rBACFFNwx6OgGcHdAADF6FcauJs808.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
It was a Thursday night. The feeling of insomnia hung high over her head, like a slow suicide sucking the life blood out of her. She was listening to Of Montreal's "The past is a grotesque animal," the music was like a thin string that had wrapped itself around her heart so tightly that her face began to get pale. She clicked the message in her inbox, "You have incredible taste in literature, is Anna Karenina your favorite Tolstoy? What about a favorite Murukami?" No simple and meaningless hellos, introductions, vain compliments about appearance, the conversation hit the softest corners of her heart since the moment it began. She realized that conversation is very similar to chess, you need an opponent, a Roland for an Oliver, this is the only way to make it all worthwhile and interesting. They continued exchanging messages with often obscure, and at times simple language. Each message came in like an overwhelming wave of possibilities rushing over her, tiptoeing the line of reality and the mental realm inside her mind.<br />
<br />
She turned off her phone and walked to the bathroom to take a shower. Only to find a numb facing staring back at her in the mirror. She knew then that her greatest fear was to be killed by loneliness, to not have an opponent. Among the crowds, her vision saw through the sky and concrete buildings, it was fixated on something far, far away.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJngATK37jaOFJR4nj4bb7O69UCxGO4yaLvKlHFaGGIoT4PPAbIQ2EaNIyXN6yN5cGYknbsAbuK0COyvmTnemD-KI4cASBFNMecx4A3nQw5LbHTcItsg2tzE6Yg06kwH4cSnxfqHxe7mw1/s2400/1+(14)7%E5%AF%B8%E9%9F%A9%E5%9B%BD%E9%85%B7%E5%8A%A8%E6%8B%89%E7%B1%B3.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJngATK37jaOFJR4nj4bb7O69UCxGO4yaLvKlHFaGGIoT4PPAbIQ2EaNIyXN6yN5cGYknbsAbuK0COyvmTnemD-KI4cASBFNMecx4A3nQw5LbHTcItsg2tzE6Yg06kwH4cSnxfqHxe7mw1/s960/1+(14)7%E5%AF%B8%E9%9F%A9%E5%9B%BD%E9%85%B7%E5%8A%A8%E6%8B%89%E7%B1%B3.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
“What I took away from his books is a longing to meet strangers at hotels and listen to their stories.”<br />
<br />
“I often find myself missing/remembering entire strangers, people I came across and never forgot.”<br />
<br />
“People are always colliding with each other, in ideas, in cars, in violence and in love. This perpetual collision kinetically and perpetually changes the landscape.”<br />
<br />
It was never clear if people like this actually existed, if people could be this interesting. She had still never seen him with her own eyes, still just an illusion. For her writing was the safest way to approach strangers. The process of exchanging ideas and thoughts was similar to two cars crashing headfirst into one another, a kind of excitement that broke the daily mundane life that fills up the hours of the day. She liked to imagine if she would be able to recognize him in a crowd. A man with his own lifestyle, tall and manly, with closely cropped hair, collared shirts and suits, fine lines, and muscles that are a telltale sign of working out. He would probably smile from afar and wave his hand.<br />
<br />
At times she could hear the sounds of the keys as they were pressed by her fingers, a lonely sound, like blood gradually flowing through veins. His words appeared on the screen, then suddenly disappeared again. He began to enter her mental world, they met in a subway station, in the gym, and in a dark Karaoke room with dim lights and drunken people. She thought about every detail that his messages contained, the imaginative tones, the voice that stitched every word together.<br />
<br />
She began to wonder if the world should keep its mysteries to itself. If she should simply follow the rules of the game like everyone else.<br />
<br />
Would fate allow their shoulders to brush up against one another in the streets after she gets back to his city? What are the odds in a vast place?<br />
<br />
Would she be reminded of him in every person with a uniform, a pair of blue Adidas pants, or upon hearing sirens in the distance?<br />
<br />
She began to wonder if tomorrow was the end of the world, would they actually meet?<br />
<br />
She took a train with her book to another city, to lose herself in some reverie by the seaside, and remind herself that she had nothing to begin with.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGQx1xTvae9or66HoaWpIQ9HDyouoIjxU2guXHXO81tM-UCC7mIQdtVj_kz-xMsz1S47UlSwSZnEaRdFazedtVTJ2D4WIuKhCKESjQ_g2bwXxaFIms_zbC_ODoPFjF6sUOknsLDkMaAg6o/s1600/rBACFFNttg_AJ_1cAAEkJDro-n4527.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGQx1xTvae9or66HoaWpIQ9HDyouoIjxU2guXHXO81tM-UCC7mIQdtVj_kz-xMsz1S47UlSwSZnEaRdFazedtVTJ2D4WIuKhCKESjQ_g2bwXxaFIms_zbC_ODoPFjF6sUOknsLDkMaAg6o/s1600/rBACFFNttg_AJ_1cAAEkJDro-n4527.jpg" /></a>Kehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10476040597590052206noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1325364054352248833.post-60770745562530541862014-04-17T03:37:00.003-04:002014-04-17T04:16:47.701-04:00Yesterday the sky was grayish blue, like a face that was losing all of dearest memories, crying over the winter's passing, for the new signs of life had already begun to emerge from their slumber.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQFQ0ox2TKFPhqFUz05qVFvWbvzrVSs1l3P5RW0uhQIja9Ohyphenhyphensf-nHS4j631nn7J7uE8ZUUFoirmYm9XlCvJ9aTvA0hZTsEER0hZNve7sbaqo51Zwx7NVPpDJOegMrpTVWkd5JsSOPBmgM/s1600/QQ%E5%9B%BE%E7%89%8720140417150116.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQFQ0ox2TKFPhqFUz05qVFvWbvzrVSs1l3P5RW0uhQIja9Ohyphenhyphensf-nHS4j631nn7J7uE8ZUUFoirmYm9XlCvJ9aTvA0hZTsEER0hZNve7sbaqo51Zwx7NVPpDJOegMrpTVWkd5JsSOPBmgM/s1600/QQ%E5%9B%BE%E7%89%8720140417150116.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
I once again walked on the rainbow bridge, and just stood there looking at the city before the rain comes rushing in. Time passing by too fast, tracing my skin, passing forever onward. Not far away, the lights in the classrooms of No. 5 high School had already begun to shine, reminding me of days gone by when my entire youth was buried in the mountains of books and homework, the days when I was waiting for classes to start, waiting to get off from school, and waiting to grow into adulthood. The days when I stood at the top of the teaching building watching the sunset, the dim lights and the broken rosy clouds were unpredictable, much like life and death here on earth. I watched them wither away, like watching a slow motion ringing down of the curtain. I didn't realize I still had to go back to class until the bell began ringing. Night slowly fell, and the bright stars were quietly hanging in the sky in a very lonely way. In the playground two kids biked in a circle, the boy carrying the girl, both giggling and talking, as if as long as she sat at the back they could use their emotions to support the future to eternity. Perhaps after ten years they would bump into each other on this bridge with their own partner, and just smile and say "Hey, it's been a long time." When we were young, we thought feelings were the entire world, we were fond of using movies to decorate our worldviews, using music to color moods, using travel to fill youthful years, using ideals to forge our minds. We naively thought time was plentiful, youth was long, and the feelings we once had would always be there, until the seas begin running dry and the rocks begin to crumble. We never understood how the world would crush us to pieces and destroy everything that we once held onto so firmly.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh82-jCxUst9j9sg389svTkS7Xp04aVAGqW1PInsrvlntsO2BhekRw1s2tvqOrkTnHcvSKipCq7EjAWzCAYb5893TaHaurbsRlDW5FmiJVikvGtR_tnRnvmV8Bax_HRktMgEFSaWUAKWTXW/s1600/HIKT%25I7WA%5B~2%25B)7@1%5B5%7BC5.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh82-jCxUst9j9sg389svTkS7Xp04aVAGqW1PInsrvlntsO2BhekRw1s2tvqOrkTnHcvSKipCq7EjAWzCAYb5893TaHaurbsRlDW5FmiJVikvGtR_tnRnvmV8Bax_HRktMgEFSaWUAKWTXW/s1600/HIKT%25I7WA%5B~2%25B)7@1%5B5%7BC5.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
I stood on the bridge, only wanting someone to stand by me and watch this city before the heavy rain comes, listening to the sound of the thunder, enjoying the grey clouds, sharing the silence, This, the month of April.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxUHppRB-X5T0v57KeFdbMiDh7bum_nLodBXZUIfatS4TAObkEmR0IMhH77U025au8udgUItsRZ3VTu9Is2Gd0u54Hpm83ZNK23n9E5P1bJsZJrC_lQLTj6Lhhyphenhyphenzx615HEZCzQmQuBpatl/s1600/QQ%E5%9B%BE%E7%89%8720140417153312.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxUHppRB-X5T0v57KeFdbMiDh7bum_nLodBXZUIfatS4TAObkEmR0IMhH77U025au8udgUItsRZ3VTu9Is2Gd0u54Hpm83ZNK23n9E5P1bJsZJrC_lQLTj6Lhhyphenhyphenzx615HEZCzQmQuBpatl/s1600/QQ%E5%9B%BE%E7%89%8720140417153312.jpg" /></a>
Kehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10476040597590052206noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1325364054352248833.post-51020482807860334072013-04-15T00:03:00.001-04:002013-04-15T02:33:41.989-04:00I remember<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember the seeming endless days of us traipsing through
the sands of time; we never knew what we would find. Lost as always, stuck
between somewhere and nowhere.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember that sunny June, I walked on the beach with you
aimlessly, the setting sun sending out the last of its rays across the Atlantic
as we reached for the sky with outstretched arms. There were waves, laughter, sunshine,
and the distant calls of the seagulls. Crushed sand stretched out beyond our
vision. The warm water teased us as it swept to within inches of our blistered
feet. With our sunburned backs, windswept faces, and forever lost souls.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-fareast-language: ZH-CN;">I remember that
cold night, I jumped on a plane to see you, and we ran away to New York City to
meet him. </span>We were wandering on the street, looking for a restaurant to
eat, he<span style="mso-fareast-language: ZH-CN;"> took off his coat and put it
on you, and I saw the way he looked at your eyes, with a gentle breeze in</span>
the air, it prompted me to recall the sense of a burning passion, the kind that
comes with love. In the hotel room, I pretended to fall asleep on the other
bed, as you and him <span style="mso-fareast-language: ZH-CN;">lay in the dark, I
heard you talk about Hemingway, Destroyer, the world, and just life in general.
I never told you that my heart started to sink as I cried in the dark.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-fareast-language: ZH-CN;">I remember that
time you told me how afraid you were to feel attached, for all the possible
heartbreak, for all the scars that still reside on your skin. I encouraged you
to love, I told you not to live so cautiously, for all the beautiful moments
that make life worth living call for courage. Yet for all my words, I never
told you that deep inside me, I too was frightened at the prospect of getting
hurt, we are doomed to be vulnerable. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
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Kehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10476040597590052206noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1325364054352248833.post-6254358059155642092013-04-12T21:40:00.000-04:002013-04-13T04:07:39.846-04:00HerDeep in the night.<br />
<br />
<br />
She sat alone in a hallway, gloomy and narrow, but with a calm sense of security. Unlike the spacious vacant centers with their ominous aurora that makes her anxious.<br />
<br />
The dim sentiment perfectly fit into the depressing weather. Her eyes looked misty, like the eyes of lonely birds when they are about to burst into tears. She felt perplexed contemplating the unknown future.<br />
<br />
She sat there with a half bottle of whiskey in her hand, “just stay awake,” she thought. The pain and panic were everywhere in the air when she stayed sober. <br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWs-sicAijFDngKUNUxTfYgNQkmzV0RwJA44zkwX_pR1CEalKXTnjbVQ37Ycn0gE0u6cYkjMAZQ15Jhm7FvgB_OdCmRp5y-Zuu9jvfjmI5uu_1D0EMrMcT7P8mrRrIS9L5wT81n04Pa79a/s3200/428298_10151370075185385_906005384_23081497_2054517027_n_meitu_1.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWs-sicAijFDngKUNUxTfYgNQkmzV0RwJA44zkwX_pR1CEalKXTnjbVQ37Ycn0gE0u6cYkjMAZQ15Jhm7FvgB_OdCmRp5y-Zuu9jvfjmI5uu_1D0EMrMcT7P8mrRrIS9L5wT81n04Pa79a/s1280/428298_10151370075185385_906005384_23081497_2054517027_n_meitu_1.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
The city was as heartbreaking as she was.<br />
<br />
She staggered to her feet, opened the door with her shaking hand, and went out.<br />
<br />
The piercing cold wind was blowing her face, chilling her soul. There were few pedestrians on the street, no one noticed her loneliness. <br />
<br />
A dark night with the unpredictible undercurrents.<br />
A shattered life.<br />
<br />
Not far away, the construction project was full of workers even as the clock struck midnight, all for a meager profit."Life is realistic," she thought.<br />
<br />
She passed by the building they were working on as the wind began to blow stronger still. Suddenly a giant stone started to fall. The round moon hanging in the air, surrounded by darkness too strong to overcome, left its light dim and pale, as it reflected the falling stone. It was falling with an unmeasurable speed.<br />
<br />
<br />
“Am I going to die?” She thought.<br />
<br />
<br />
In her subconsciousness, she went back to that time when she was 5, mom and dad took her to the countryside where white little flowers grew. The clouds were sparse and the wind was soft. She smiled at the flowers; they were so small, pure, and fragile, like her heart. She picked them up and held them in her hands; looking at them be blown away with the breeze. It was a colorful picture reflected in her mind. She thought it was life, so beautiful that it intoxicated her.<br />
<br />
<br />
Time flew by, soon her parents split up to pursue their own romantic interests. When she stood on the street with her own solitude, when the cruelty of life made her drown leaving no room for her to breathe, when her only company became alcohol and tears, she thought, life was so real.<br />
<br />
<br />
She said, “It’s about to end," with a sense of despair and release.<br />
<br />
She was not yet old, she was still searching for the meaning of life.<br />
<br />
<br />
But she was about to run out of money, she no longer could buy alcohol, and immersed herself in the reflection of life and love.<br />
The imaginary of love probably would never come. No one would ever fall in love with a despondent girl who had a tortured soul.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMyPGP_-I9sZ7XqohNbUUwyt7JhqZ2nE481mx5uyu84-Fj6JohNhkgi9lFxmsfUAASIzTws_wP8KdBwDvEH4P4_BbbEG3PTdLURTa-H2H10Bgwte_xZi9hu2gKFLtXXgWSfdUGP8gK_yJe/s1600/IMG_0501.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMyPGP_-I9sZ7XqohNbUUwyt7JhqZ2nE481mx5uyu84-Fj6JohNhkgi9lFxmsfUAASIzTws_wP8KdBwDvEH4P4_BbbEG3PTdLURTa-H2H10Bgwte_xZi9hu2gKFLtXXgWSfdUGP8gK_yJe/s853/IMG_0501.JPG" /></a>
<br />
<br />
<br />
“Bang” .<br />
<br />
She saw a moment long ago, when she was just five; her parents held her hands and took her to the countryside where wild flowers grew. She picked them up and held them in her hands, watching them be blown away by the breeze.<br />
<br />
<br />
The stone smashed her head with tremendous force. Her brains were scattered in innumerable directions, her blood was spattered like sand thrown into the breeze. She was badly mutilated in a few fractions of a second. It smashed her body, her soul, and the love that would never come.<br />
<br />
<br />
The smile was on her face.<br />
<br />
Once someone asked her what if she crumbles tomorrow.<br />
She thought, " what if I crumble tomorrow? "<br />
<br />
<br />
Her life had been a heavy burden; she was too frail to carry the weight of life.<br />
<br />
It should have ended earlier, why didn’t it end until just now.<br />
It should have ended earlier, why didn’t it end until just now.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi66_2cLSGMjOFYqYJr2m9UGvDz-7uBjNyla_2uHVeXzb6PIGH_Hhg4CkvtuvSHqTTI0Rne5kWngwtk3KP8681-yytVSYBfW8rrUlMs7cW2AelBbs6i221p2T17HC6gULTr28rmJT3q2ke2/s1600/5167cd3acad54.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi66_2cLSGMjOFYqYJr2m9UGvDz-7uBjNyla_2uHVeXzb6PIGH_Hhg4CkvtuvSHqTTI0Rne5kWngwtk3KP8681-yytVSYBfW8rrUlMs7cW2AelBbs6i221p2T17HC6gULTr28rmJT3q2ke2/s1280/5167cd3acad54.jpg" /></a>Kehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10476040597590052206noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1325364054352248833.post-42197294596012421872012-10-09T09:43:00.000-04:002012-10-09T11:04:18.157-04:00My tears streaming down along the cheeks, mixed with October's drenching rain falls on the ground; I can not see the dark sky in the distance. Will the grass grow where the tears dropped? Will the memories and sadness blossom after seasons upon seasons?
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUgDdExKVulZ6f6uYhyY-4WUu0Wh6mIn32xuFfKCLIWJnAJP1NQuD7xVlQgO-DsnK9uO-JHLzlbAu3-7ysS5c99ndw_9ePoV6uCZU3o1-Xsi2JSn5f6FUrGEQwZ1sBqjdi1C30QL1B5Gk_/s1600/kee.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUgDdExKVulZ6f6uYhyY-4WUu0Wh6mIn32xuFfKCLIWJnAJP1NQuD7xVlQgO-DsnK9uO-JHLzlbAu3-7ysS5c99ndw_9ePoV6uCZU3o1-Xsi2JSn5f6FUrGEQwZ1sBqjdi1C30QL1B5Gk_/s800/kee.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<p>
I sat on the train back to the city. Outside of the rusty window was the heavy rain; dark sky, birds were not in view, the evergreen tress along the track kept swiftly moving backwards. Flows of rain flow down the window of the train, and then like an unwanted guest, penetrate into the car through the window at the junction of the leaf; October weather, the car is a dry place, people’s exhaled mist condenses into drops of water droplets on the glass of the windows just above the small table, mixing with the various items sitting precariously on the small white table.
<p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbSQWm7pUf2d3x5zK4nxOJlf1DWx2tqMUpFMW8HZ78wiUtBjjYpWw3eyX0BBfEmVVpaPOjO5Ek7VixH_unn6DS2aJqXS7A-9yq8dDJefMSYEZtnPuTYrGVPJ5wL9iRXPGNT3kehaqAaomR/s1600/jkl_meitu_1.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbSQWm7pUf2d3x5zK4nxOJlf1DWx2tqMUpFMW8HZ78wiUtBjjYpWw3eyX0BBfEmVVpaPOjO5Ek7VixH_unn6DS2aJqXS7A-9yq8dDJefMSYEZtnPuTYrGVPJ5wL9iRXPGNT3kehaqAaomR/s800/jkl_meitu_1.jpg" width="800" /></a>
<p>
Inside the car it is extremely crowded, narrow aisles filled with packed suitcases and people with languages so different, as it be mutually unintelligible, bustling from different places far and wide. My hand rubbed the wet glass windows, looking out at the blurred scenery, the rain is rather large, and little evergreen trees sway back and forth in the wind and rain; the train kept on its path, the occasional whistle echoed back and forth in the distant tunnel, proclaiming its intention to forge ahead.
<p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdkgm8t0mUFD6X_KBQ6pYR3iKSoxtQy4rAmuP9rGaJh9q0n0LNx3YCJ8wlxFxN58UAhTAEX8hBpfpwAu1c-0-niDbig4PFSDU1YIqZJqxLdRWm5Jrdq4aiE-hGaaDuAcLIO3KoKIK8HYZK/s1600/P1012332.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdkgm8t0mUFD6X_KBQ6pYR3iKSoxtQy4rAmuP9rGaJh9q0n0LNx3YCJ8wlxFxN58UAhTAEX8hBpfpwAu1c-0-niDbig4PFSDU1YIqZJqxLdRWm5Jrdq4aiE-hGaaDuAcLIO3KoKIK8HYZK/s800/P1012332.JPG" width="600" /></a>
Kehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10476040597590052206noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1325364054352248833.post-24898875789248287512012-03-25T02:52:00.003-04:002012-03-25T03:08:08.001-04:00That day, the coffee shop had really good business, I had to share a table with a girl wearing a dress. She was very thin, like those high school students who just finished an exam. Messy hair dangling from the back of her head waiting to be pulled. By the time late summer come her skin had turned light brown with few pores, like it was covered in a light layer of glaze. She sat quietly reading a book of fiction, noisily so that she did not become immersed in it.She from time to time raised her eyes to glance around, with a kind of panic only teen girls would have, always worrying about getting too much attention, as if the whole world was watching how young she was. Actually her face was plain, other than me, nobody else noticed her.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMfZIBEuhrjqMeHY9MiyxSqke8iBhNoBUI5zqYRKnlZS9RA6Dh5rW6ZWtn0lbJ_wtTCZtECMKXtXKzDCl2tiC1nXggQl0S-GqLJmYDmkrBBmJTKLHlsuVvtJqvxIj6TNEFpOyuIMD3yieX/s1600/P3041063_meitu_1.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="716" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMfZIBEuhrjqMeHY9MiyxSqke8iBhNoBUI5zqYRKnlZS9RA6Dh5rW6ZWtn0lbJ_wtTCZtECMKXtXKzDCl2tiC1nXggQl0S-GqLJmYDmkrBBmJTKLHlsuVvtJqvxIj6TNEFpOyuIMD3yieX/s800/P3041063_meitu_1.jpg" width="800" /></a></div><br />
I paid attention to her because of her plainness. She was so beautiful for not knowing her bland appearance.I suddenly realized that I was no longer 18 years old, although I am still occasionally plagued with the lone pimple, or sometimes wear a dress similar to hers. I can no longer be that skinny or have the temperament that shows in her pale eyes. She sat there, plucked out a few coins from her purse to pay for her coffee, as if to remind me of time that is no more.<br />
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In the morning, I dreamed of the aquarium where I would always go in high school. It always lacked visitors, yet penguins and tropical fish floated almost like jellyfish in endless numbers, quiet and strange. The dreams of all the shadows, the shadows of the penguins and tropical fish occupied my dreams.I slept too much, but it seems like I could never wake up.<br />
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I rarely take out old photos and look at them any more. For if I did I would be quite surprised. Sometimes they point to those photos, and tell me that in fact, there is not much difference, its just I looked more carefree back then.But When I look at the photos, I can't recall how I grew to become the lady I am now. I am reminded of the movie "heart", Kaneshiro Takeshi put Gigi's black and white enrollment photo on the top of a desk lamp. Years later when Gigi got old, she became Aijia. I often cried a lot when I saw this movie when I was younger, yet now I don't. Unlike Gigi, I didn't fall in love with a musician when I was 18, didn't drink fruit vodka at a party until I threw up, or take a ferry late at night to an isolated island in order to find a hotel and make bad love.<br />
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I am sad, probably because I can not remember what I had done when I was the coffee girl's age. What I can remember are all the minutia, like the legs soaking in the bath tub in the summer, ear lobes, pearl earrings, stairs under the sunshine, playground, the plants grandma grew. I never wanted to squander time, but no longer have time to throw away.<br />
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The girl who sat there and used coins to pay for her coffee, she might never had a boyfriend before, her lips not yet been kissed, and therefore an absolutely pure and plain look draped her. She has a lot of time to feel, the beauty and cruelty. These are all my cursory passing of time, having now become blurred in a memory of black and white shadows, to occasionally flash in my dreams, just floating there. She is my past, she will become me, but I can no longer become her.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDjkyP7DSILGCBrrQ336C6k1evBdi-x4PInox_h9yW0MDqE21jThKGQE6KVzJGkP4-V8poO7KUkHZeD-bjsuaqLMwHH6u2jwLWP0fpMVEGXdokojNBkd4zlZfvYTjirwSnUVli8bjcPYtd/s1600/P3030627_meitu_1.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDjkyP7DSILGCBrrQ336C6k1evBdi-x4PInox_h9yW0MDqE21jThKGQE6KVzJGkP4-V8poO7KUkHZeD-bjsuaqLMwHH6u2jwLWP0fpMVEGXdokojNBkd4zlZfvYTjirwSnUVli8bjcPYtd/s800/P3030627_meitu_1.jpg" width="600" /></a></div><br />
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I finally took a long bus ride back to the aquarium of high school where I skipped classes to see a dolphin show, but it had been demolished. As I stood there my earphones play "girl, you will soon become a lady".Kehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10476040597590052206noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1325364054352248833.post-86593835010033276482012-02-22T01:49:00.002-05:002012-02-22T01:52:50.290-05:00Sometimes after a burst of rain, the aroma hovering in the air is a bit brackish, like the deltas of some far flung place. Sometimes because of a bowl of tasty noodles, sometimes because of a song whose name escapes you, and sometimes because it is as if it's a dream scene, we suddenly stay put, unable to move. It is all because our minds are stuck in that moment of remembrance, our memories left following unhindered into the vast reaches of the present. We sigh, smile, cry, just desperately wanting to capture the time of what was. Desiring to use our skin once more to reach back and feel again, to use the pores to breathe the air. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw6hL5V-8eV06yK5UCTCoFmCMH4cNLgT7R9vvA28WIUNbQEJ7C3lBQdq9krAMJleEvHIFZHJu-je5UIOgGMJMPk2_RgzmRmbrWeLOjLt0WsOLBFU7puqUr4iOjkvp-M03SwHJltWWkHnuB/s1600/P2170143_meitu_1.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="736" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw6hL5V-8eV06yK5UCTCoFmCMH4cNLgT7R9vvA28WIUNbQEJ7C3lBQdq9krAMJleEvHIFZHJu-je5UIOgGMJMPk2_RgzmRmbrWeLOjLt0WsOLBFU7puqUr4iOjkvp-M03SwHJltWWkHnuB/s800/P2170143_meitu_1.jpg" width="790" /></a><br />
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The memories are far too ingrained in the skin to return once more.<br />
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All related to the mind and emotions, are the majestic feelings of a sensitive soul. Rain washing the streets, walls covered with climbing plants, and the aircraft out of the window of the sky, those early morning mists, sadness and pride, all of the feelings a photograph tries to express. This too is but a growing record of the rapid lose of time. We almost certainly forgot those vague fragments of the original that are still clearly there. They are still clearly there.<br />
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Remember the passage of time, remember the day when I was standing on the roof, air moisture, wind, tightening the skin of perception.Kehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10476040597590052206noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1325364054352248833.post-2004108412490041192012-02-15T22:11:00.003-05:002012-02-16T00:36:07.477-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlobF3o9ifD75sl019GneP0BZddZoDbTyxkjLI5Xv_gS0iDhPaWN-KdbVei1fGQagfx4wt4F1YYDJEAl3KefPKTZiBINHVnBi9b8g8F5_bhXAwGXil8QqpDeNRp6d_TSnrQGA9arZrwQ_g/s1600/ke2.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlobF3o9ifD75sl019GneP0BZddZoDbTyxkjLI5Xv_gS0iDhPaWN-KdbVei1fGQagfx4wt4F1YYDJEAl3KefPKTZiBINHVnBi9b8g8F5_bhXAwGXil8QqpDeNRp6d_TSnrQGA9arZrwQ_g/s800/ke2.jpg" width="600" /></a></div><br />
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The slits of light cutting through the trees, appeared as time capsules isolated into themselves.<br />
Each stream of light caring with it, all the dust of the past, all aimlessly adrift in a world not unlike our own.<br />
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How many lives were lived, and now consist of a mere transparent glim in my eye?<br />
So too is my world, it is but a glim in the eye of another.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisQqKMh_E52htkF2lHcUXtjfb-75dC36P-sf1rEQKjARj0ikX4kkwg5p2PPyZ4P8yPr38osD1Ka99gmNXPE8sVdudjyrTUVxDgm8vK6EMtTiNMnu7FWgSO92UWMcIkWKyjYsPf2mvFBI1H/s1600/IMG_2457_meitu_1.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="550" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisQqKMh_E52htkF2lHcUXtjfb-75dC36P-sf1rEQKjARj0ikX4kkwg5p2PPyZ4P8yPr38osD1Ka99gmNXPE8sVdudjyrTUVxDgm8vK6EMtTiNMnu7FWgSO92UWMcIkWKyjYsPf2mvFBI1H/s800/IMG_2457_meitu_1.jpg" width="890" /></a></div><br />
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Restless wandering leads me through the streets<br />
I know not what I am looking for, if in fact I am looking at all.<br />
I can only understand the longing for something more,<br />
bigger than what I have now.<br />
<br />
I am sure I won't find it today,<br />
yet my head can't rest until my muscles ache,<br />
my head dips low<br />
and my legs collapse under me.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYEPXGCqwRrEV7x0XiVS6FpfH-tAi5Im-phihWYbTHdR8p39O2MpbJdaKB-IDeJFd6EI7_Eak0dr28CNhuRepeKa5LZz3VAn2mzy3mpFrq-Q7ZV6uiUrkCAlUl_YKKiXwz9LVW8feqYeaA/s1600/keee.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="550" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYEPXGCqwRrEV7x0XiVS6FpfH-tAi5Im-phihWYbTHdR8p39O2MpbJdaKB-IDeJFd6EI7_Eak0dr28CNhuRepeKa5LZz3VAn2mzy3mpFrq-Q7ZV6uiUrkCAlUl_YKKiXwz9LVW8feqYeaA/s800/keee.jpg" width="890" /></a></div>Kehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10476040597590052206noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1325364054352248833.post-6885439188070613852011-12-28T00:28:00.005-05:002012-02-09T18:07:22.802-05:00With a black pencil, I draw a silent drama, to hold you against the light in the cinema.<br />
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I sing hoarse songs there in a corner, just for you even when it gets louder.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirDkjg7n3KYEWTqNOej257fRXxjhpru2QsdF8eXo7Q5r8Lcw3ZbDjCrClnJiS9nc855nA3sPCldwIbVzhtoHf7Gc2rmobn1vROuDKcGznW-rCigp_hXRZn0kSPRs3mu5rU7RPhvqzWJdA-/s1600/maylay.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirDkjg7n3KYEWTqNOej257fRXxjhpru2QsdF8eXo7Q5r8Lcw3ZbDjCrClnJiS9nc855nA3sPCldwIbVzhtoHf7Gc2rmobn1vROuDKcGznW-rCigp_hXRZn0kSPRs3mu5rU7RPhvqzWJdA-/s800/maylay.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>Kehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10476040597590052206noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1325364054352248833.post-24460987190300044422011-04-09T19:06:00.015-04:002012-02-24T16:47:57.741-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQQoOxhha0vOXdcNrcGJtQxabzaxEq3HnAuVkwajG9btG7PLc53tKzpMLOATyeH32xaIG4eC0CitLlVI0MV1NPfqe0hu-TtDzNIPtamaTgGvH9UAg1Ul66e58tfttNmnkCBMI6L1inhJE2/s1600/216801_10150563568875385_906005384_17953776_6370055_n.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQQoOxhha0vOXdcNrcGJtQxabzaxEq3HnAuVkwajG9btG7PLc53tKzpMLOATyeH32xaIG4eC0CitLlVI0MV1NPfqe0hu-TtDzNIPtamaTgGvH9UAg1Ul66e58tfttNmnkCBMI6L1inhJE2/s800/216801_10150563568875385_906005384_17953776_6370055_n.jpg" width="596" /></a></div><br />
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A flat-top forest stretches far in embroidered mist,<br />
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A cluster of mountains cool is tinged with heartbreak blue.<br />
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In vain her anxious thought for half a lifetime,<br />
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For like a disturbing dream at dead of night,<br />
<br />
Like the thunderous collapse of a great mansion,<br />
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Or the flickering of a lamp that gutters out,<br />
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Mirth is suddenly changed to sorrow.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFiOKX_rHkt-fWCDZwNFyTM3AnlBXBAHqWG7gVZxyIvthdVnyJGc7JhKdbyKWc0Z5xam9PjrSRnEUi_dkn22G-8ee159ew8wZdfeuF5MOT_SdmolN9QDXzLeXK2E6NJ9nN8TmlFBqv4XLq/s1600/201210320046762.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="546" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFiOKX_rHkt-fWCDZwNFyTM3AnlBXBAHqWG7gVZxyIvthdVnyJGc7JhKdbyKWc0Z5xam9PjrSRnEUi_dkn22G-8ee159ew8wZdfeuF5MOT_SdmolN9QDXzLeXK2E6NJ9nN8TmlFBqv4XLq/s800/201210320046762.jpg" width="800" /></a></div>Kehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10476040597590052206noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1325364054352248833.post-86936920409766417162010-07-25T12:08:00.004-04:002012-02-24T16:46:53.199-05:00I sit beside the window every evening,<br />
looking at gorgeous sunshine, or amazingly heavy rain.<br />
The world wipes out its superficiality, and shows the essence of the beauty.<br />
Unknown songs echo in the air, empty hugs and hand holding regardless of sex.<br />
And everything is just blurry.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju0j_yvFw4qYKwi5ql1MF41Hq6Y2O-LLVJIEwUNils-7SerzMJx4VaglRIcesWUYe3xnQshOpEBMU7cYb8UroiBltIxY03Ni-gFUo9jcY1JpHsUIiWptAG7aDA3RJvzNeIYCNC-aqTMH0B/s1600/201221610764013.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="550" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju0j_yvFw4qYKwi5ql1MF41Hq6Y2O-LLVJIEwUNils-7SerzMJx4VaglRIcesWUYe3xnQshOpEBMU7cYb8UroiBltIxY03Ni-gFUo9jcY1JpHsUIiWptAG7aDA3RJvzNeIYCNC-aqTMH0B/s800/201221610764013.jpg" width="800" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The city is crowded with people and vehicles.<br />
skyscrapers seem as though they reach the clouds. <br />
Engine sounds destroy beautiful dreams.<br />
Neon lights reflect into eyes, and brighten the city.<br />
Roads and air in this materialistic world, dust can't cover the desolation.<br />
Even if everything seems ostentatiously prosperous.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIJQxqUXcu6_uUDWRU2lOaOoVzFx6ZxAcO0KPVMp_e0cdXSRi7bNMmfHRCbKUBBytafXgVXmvYGxNZUxFfPhxK2qNCS2G3HOAqZZDVNES68gvLeyvpV6fqxTsUXE9ucDo4t0Bu6vBms38T/s1600/4677277939_1aba653588_b.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="550" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIJQxqUXcu6_uUDWRU2lOaOoVzFx6ZxAcO0KPVMp_e0cdXSRi7bNMmfHRCbKUBBytafXgVXmvYGxNZUxFfPhxK2qNCS2G3HOAqZZDVNES68gvLeyvpV6fqxTsUXE9ucDo4t0Bu6vBms38T/s800/4677277939_1aba653588_b.jpg" width="800" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Small towns and big cities.<br />
They stare at each other with distance, and lost in thoughts.<br />
The quiet, the pleasure.<br />
The prosperity, the isolation.<br />
I wander around between small towns and big cities,<br />
a crazy dream is hidden in my heart.<br />
There is an empty city that belongs to me.<br />
No people, no colors.<br />
Some sad emotions, and loneliness that leads to perfection.<br />
But it is just a dream,<br />
kind of far away from mediocre me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5z2K8moHxygZq_WzAyVBHNAwWXSgT5KDNdFz3CyKFDZ0buAs4S5gelRgmvH79yXqmIj8LWmaZbq0MlH2TesZETuy3bvCUMgEdMyz6mRvNNZrlv18RekQFH04aa6_qISMECVGh31___Aru/s1600/DSC_6431_meitu_1.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="526" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5z2K8moHxygZq_WzAyVBHNAwWXSgT5KDNdFz3CyKFDZ0buAs4S5gelRgmvH79yXqmIj8LWmaZbq0MlH2TesZETuy3bvCUMgEdMyz6mRvNNZrlv18RekQFH04aa6_qISMECVGh31___Aru/s800/DSC_6431_meitu_1.jpg" width="800" /></a></div>Kehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10476040597590052206noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1325364054352248833.post-85169134743388651202010-05-13T02:38:00.017-04:002012-02-17T19:25:44.088-05:00One sunny afternoon in the heat of the summer . <br />
The sunshine is so strong that it seems to break the fragile world. <br />
I stand at the four corners of a road, all beliefs are destroyed. <br />
Whats left is a long and lonely shadow in life. <br />
In the deep of the shadow, some disappeared faces twinkle again. <br />
The background is as dark as ink. <br />
You are leaving. The shape and color of your shadow are fading into the dark. <br />
But the brightness of your eyes and eyebrows are too bright to fit into the ink. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQsqQEBDunMquQlEM1Wzn5736sCaBByhN4IzwcIW0vRiH8fOJ-MhtycMkDayh8dPg4SkECyXZ3k1-cq43LBYlQHhulyzmcxL9tku1n0oxw0EfBLcMcGoZe9jf4LMB3mHHcHhElY72MlQpi/s1600/4332387344_4bfb87e8e1_b.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="516" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQsqQEBDunMquQlEM1Wzn5736sCaBByhN4IzwcIW0vRiH8fOJ-MhtycMkDayh8dPg4SkECyXZ3k1-cq43LBYlQHhulyzmcxL9tku1n0oxw0EfBLcMcGoZe9jf4LMB3mHHcHhElY72MlQpi/s800/4332387344_4bfb87e8e1_b.jpg" width="800" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Do you think everyone's youth is like this? <br />
To experience the ephemeral sadness and happiness, <br />
like wild flowers, <br />
on our way to emerge and perish ourselves, also decorated passers-by's dreams. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
You once told me that we need to live as plain as possible yet dream as far as we could. <br />
Though tomorrow might be tough. <br />
I always think about it at night with violin music in the quiet, with wind dancing. <br />
Every time like this I feel time flowing backwards. <br />
The old days are like an oil painting from Cézanne, <br />
gloomy and colorful, messy and beautiful. <br />
No specific definitions, only showing the wounds and sweetness. <br />
And Now when no one is around, and all the emotions and feelings only belong to me myself, <br />
I still remember what you said to me before. <br />
comfort from others is out at elbows, you have to take care of yourself. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga8SA9u63-JQdhh9hhsd55hblHbi49mz7K6i1ySkZ5T9fvIrxeZ5aUimD8aKEt_0Oka4-VYouWjBCzfvN0Wfhg79hP6aKp5XtqI98xiApD_Lmj_WvjiqRIoHJssVUb_rKC04r0pzDE0PDm/s1600/4331649233_26b9d522b0_b.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="516" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga8SA9u63-JQdhh9hhsd55hblHbi49mz7K6i1ySkZ5T9fvIrxeZ5aUimD8aKEt_0Oka4-VYouWjBCzfvN0Wfhg79hP6aKp5XtqI98xiApD_Lmj_WvjiqRIoHJssVUb_rKC04r0pzDE0PDm/s800/4331649233_26b9d522b0_b.jpg" width="800" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;"> <br />
When I open that door <br />
<br />
I want to see the forever prosperous sight. <br />
<br />
There are no so called useful stairs. <br />
<br />
I cant sit by you with sad feelings. <br />
<br />
<br />
I get out from the door, <br />
<br />
<br />
tear page 252 from a book, <br />
<br />
it says this with black ink: <br />
<br />
Hey I can't sit by you with sad feelings <br />
<br />
I can't sit by you with sad feelings. <br />
<br />
</span> <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcDp0OxmFQVRTKC4AfAnAZk-aIHewOSQJ2Sa1pBKdFWDqKmpjsWOvufEY50KZqZxUIoFosqO631XMDMov8GYUUM4lX0HgWOTrz92TwhO1PAnrvLtvngSdtGT6uLzBX9GG0zlxnq5qdJyPb/s1600/4194121177_4d7012a5f3_z.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcDp0OxmFQVRTKC4AfAnAZk-aIHewOSQJ2Sa1pBKdFWDqKmpjsWOvufEY50KZqZxUIoFosqO631XMDMov8GYUUM4lX0HgWOTrz92TwhO1PAnrvLtvngSdtGT6uLzBX9GG0zlxnq5qdJyPb/s800/4194121177_4d7012a5f3_z.jpg" width="521" /></a></div>Kehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10476040597590052206noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1325364054352248833.post-64103718605984302012010-04-30T00:58:00.013-04:002010-05-15T02:20:44.695-04:00There is not enough time to think, every tomorrow already becomes today.<br />Drink too much water and coffee. Life doesn't have a regular routine. <br />Reversed nights and days, like every holiday.<br />Put my English vocabulary book under the pillow, <br />and now and then read Murakami Haruki and Marguerite Duras.<br />Last night the city had a horrible storm. <br />I fell asleep with the sound of rain and a violin from the neibourhood.<br />The sounds mixed together, like a piece of the beautiful harmony of a symphony.<br />Sometimes I wonder how hurt would the sky be to make it cry this bad?<br />The people were once on the streets start to run away, and then disappear.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOrkmlU7aAeb062ot6LhvJgthiApDWdZV89PUwOoYZewH92gWJ2VHaRynBggRAq7DvdDbrGZQAH9csZnHWMtuRzp7KSsroKvX7Hqval_3ON09QHqQVAmD4R3gUf0_mc5aoj-vvbUxIlmK9/s1600/2008628173141580.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 450px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOrkmlU7aAeb062ot6LhvJgthiApDWdZV89PUwOoYZewH92gWJ2VHaRynBggRAq7DvdDbrGZQAH9csZnHWMtuRzp7KSsroKvX7Hqval_3ON09QHqQVAmD4R3gUf0_mc5aoj-vvbUxIlmK9/s400/2008628173141580.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471375648584881842" /></a><br /><br /><br />The night is grey, the rain is trasparent. My heart is grey, I am trasparent.<br /><br /><br /><br />Sunshine after rain. big city. clean streets.<br />outstanding girls with confident eyes. warm smiles.<br />Then I realized I am still the old girl like when I was in high school,<br />nothing has changed from that side of the world to this side.<br />I can never be as flamboyant and showy. Always as insipid as water.<br />And look at my other self die in the sunshine of summer.<br />I calm down, I nod. My sparkling lipquid comes off. <br />I got some brown eyeshadow into my eyes, and they hurt.<br />Like a quiet girl, I am never a gorgeous lady. <br />My eyes can't express my confidence, and my smile can never be as warm. <br />I am always cared as a child, not to be loved.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdf9rDp1saiTqkiUjAkaVJ95oPkE6_eZag5MUZNaDTxKwmb0Ru8a8VVlhjviIqBdMh_VpQ8Qr1tR07T83JRbouYWdaDoYbZ8PSCmksBQkb7kXgD-oRlFTIrUNkq1f3s0o2IFtVyicPzhpm/s1600/IMG_4884.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 450px; height: 600px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdf9rDp1saiTqkiUjAkaVJ95oPkE6_eZag5MUZNaDTxKwmb0Ru8a8VVlhjviIqBdMh_VpQ8Qr1tR07T83JRbouYWdaDoYbZ8PSCmksBQkb7kXgD-oRlFTIrUNkq1f3s0o2IFtVyicPzhpm/s400/IMG_4884.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471376671878400162" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Not love. I might not be a lady even with the high heel shoes.<br />The high heels are too fragile to bare the weight of my broken dreams.<br />The end of April. Sunshine covered the city after rain.<br />The blue glasses of buildings reflect bright sunshine, to remind people in the city that summer has come.<br />I look at the white sunshine from the top of a building, <br />and don't know why about anything. <br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMhJS7amtzrQACJq5mwBGo_wWcoh1Izc9N84U53UqBMwNSLRArGh4sx7qX3cn3meZB9-SqOMhLcpVSEd0KFHGjyh4b7L1Ytn0XBvWC6mupFQiVnq6F8xEs3zvUJUidKMgyE4ga9KB8QxjG/s1600/city.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMhJS7amtzrQACJq5mwBGo_wWcoh1Izc9N84U53UqBMwNSLRArGh4sx7qX3cn3meZB9-SqOMhLcpVSEd0KFHGjyh4b7L1Ytn0XBvWC6mupFQiVnq6F8xEs3zvUJUidKMgyE4ga9KB8QxjG/s400/city.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471377679754367154" /></a>Kehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10476040597590052206noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1325364054352248833.post-46244504525416169542010-04-03T22:26:00.021-04:002010-05-15T00:06:56.232-04:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi090hldluavr4vNBoY0htTrBRWJH_IzLccC-Vlq8rQhQD5THstae7cq-i4LaL4xMM6cDtsP0UXPaAkhwDJz0fmfmky2q5sOPC8n26_Tf_7tW2w3EbYIERH1ZesR3eBBmutkSZfaKRMGVN7/s1600/p433426200.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 450px; height: 600px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi090hldluavr4vNBoY0htTrBRWJH_IzLccC-Vlq8rQhQD5THstae7cq-i4LaL4xMM6cDtsP0UXPaAkhwDJz0fmfmky2q5sOPC8n26_Tf_7tW2w3EbYIERH1ZesR3eBBmutkSZfaKRMGVN7/s800/p433426200.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456116499727672850" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />I want to travel around, with some soft cotton dresses and a large camera,<br />seeking the ultimate freedom. <br />I want to hop on a train without knowing the destination, <br />to feel the sorrow of homelessness. <br />I want to wake up in the middle of nowhere,<br />to think about what loneliness is. <br />What is real leneliness? <br />Nobody listens when you want to talk, <br />or when people want to listen, you having nothing to say?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiptqe6d8olBVqdRLb8i-1jkVeeqxvFDumxU2r9HcJMhXads15U0EacEc98dMmYmZdQYAQ_LfYq8a2CNTaoYVrrZWeh-EFemgQfk3z1DdVbhkUX4qKqJ3WigdkhYjz-Crel7UjCdFefh6y/s1600/_HX05197.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 450px; height: 600px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiptqe6d8olBVqdRLb8i-1jkVeeqxvFDumxU2r9HcJMhXads15U0EacEc98dMmYmZdQYAQ_LfYq8a2CNTaoYVrrZWeh-EFemgQfk3z1DdVbhkUX4qKqJ3WigdkhYjz-Crel7UjCdFefh6y/s400/_HX05197.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456117649769964722" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Sometimes I am touched by a single simple picture.<br />So simple that I can forget what it excactly looks like after awhile.<br />But the feeling still remains. <br />Maybe this is their charm. <br />Who said pale was powerless? <br />There is no earthly reason to always be hysteric. <br />And why does everything has to be colorful and gorgeous? <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2XaPdBz9mKEXG1XJxJ0Vsw2zV_gQIupedqUfcgrHbmvDiWRky2HrkT4mI9dWzgLc98Eak78gouUA3fFakhzuTH_nIGd87rbBHJGDbuWLW5i3lcPVwBnYkiuHlrbU01N8jWas2gPnZXgwi/s1600/IMG_4677.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 450px; height: 600px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2XaPdBz9mKEXG1XJxJ0Vsw2zV_gQIupedqUfcgrHbmvDiWRky2HrkT4mI9dWzgLc98Eak78gouUA3fFakhzuTH_nIGd87rbBHJGDbuWLW5i3lcPVwBnYkiuHlrbU01N8jWas2gPnZXgwi/s800/IMG_4677.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456121219270662194" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgxd74hbJxfFTyZlVJt6mwzC5eiyDQLDHV7KCPLLNR0GmTVxipYgjS1OTlYcWLThQ9wg6x1hPQTPO6K_AwhQfLAZRJatjFQnpwLi7MPm0ALB3DRZH_KEpeuu6hAV4IO9liGpV-caqltKPY/s1600/_HX05205.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgxd74hbJxfFTyZlVJt6mwzC5eiyDQLDHV7KCPLLNR0GmTVxipYgjS1OTlYcWLThQ9wg6x1hPQTPO6K_AwhQfLAZRJatjFQnpwLi7MPm0ALB3DRZH_KEpeuu6hAV4IO9liGpV-caqltKPY/s800/_HX05205.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456120123605302610" /></a><br /><br />I stood opposite to you, listening to you play guitar. <br />That corner was your stage. <br />Even if the bright sunshine blurred your eyes, <br />and the sound of cars' horns covered your ears. <br />You still stayed in your own world and sang from your soul. <br />I was your audience, I stood opposite to you. <br />You described yourself not through a conversation, but in your quiet singing,<br />and I was touched by your little world.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzlOdUOVITYdWbPh3HogwLohPfogaKrDhH-LCz-Rv3w4cMcfM6kGUPujyzkYFBA9-cmk7Z4iEPBwlSZnjCjHMBt8awyH3GHnz1kxBIu4gRQ7TdtTHUNHetKhyphenhyphenKB5Qloa3KIyVuuDn3xrwK/s1600/p434109040.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzlOdUOVITYdWbPh3HogwLohPfogaKrDhH-LCz-Rv3w4cMcfM6kGUPujyzkYFBA9-cmk7Z4iEPBwlSZnjCjHMBt8awyH3GHnz1kxBIu4gRQ7TdtTHUNHetKhyphenhyphenKB5Qloa3KIyVuuDn3xrwK/s800/p434109040.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456122167792557202" /></a>Kehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10476040597590052206noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1325364054352248833.post-31823060863350910692010-03-15T21:53:00.030-04:002011-12-28T00:36:47.580-05:00The plane passed the date line. I felt like everything was back to yesterday.<br />Time is just a blurry definition that may never exist.<br />But all the details have changed.<br />Ears hurt because of the distance between air and ground.<br />The pictures that belong to yesterday still remain in the brain, passing by like wind.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHPnciupVfRGHOKphJU5Ti5gOaBxSVhmAL8J-khLcYNVPODQa6xl020YVqHQ5ScPg8fZeGSwAur_CJkKQcxPvcffZ3wi99vOMXYGh7pmYN-9W-sFG1IhE29y86AiLtDRnT7noq_0qGlozu/s1600-h/405a82ad0f9f20207ae55f84363fef08.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 530px; height: 367px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHPnciupVfRGHOKphJU5Ti5gOaBxSVhmAL8J-khLcYNVPODQa6xl020YVqHQ5ScPg8fZeGSwAur_CJkKQcxPvcffZ3wi99vOMXYGh7pmYN-9W-sFG1IhE29y86AiLtDRnT7noq_0qGlozu/s400/405a82ad0f9f20207ae55f84363fef08.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449070433106426962" /></a><br /><br /><br />I miss the evenings of Beijing, especially in the sunny days.<br />Wondering around, there were cheminies in distant places.<br />School boys jogging around a playground in a line.<br />National flags under sunshine.<br />Bare poplar trees. <br />Little bars along the streets. <br />Quiet singers with guitars.<br /><br /><br />Sometimes, certian words are not precious anymore because they are said too often.<br />Like love.<br />I always believe that great love can't be expressed with words.<br />or It is not deep enough.<br />Look back, everything is like an illusion.<br />Love the shadow of myself. <br />Love to be needed and accepted.<br />Love the desire to be understood.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWWTBGEQzHeVCuYrgzidbt7EHz0n2yvuD0N2BkB5hEod3_cE8YciOdf8nSczuiGi5X69MA89iTqNE2-NGSCAY91GIVIwXkbUHTiCYul76QfICFGV7cW2-9Ggk1UTKAs2BgtBitjimw4BLH/s1600-h/IMG_3053%E5%89%AF%E6%9C%AC%E5%89%AF%E6%9C%AC.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 680px; height: 450px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWWTBGEQzHeVCuYrgzidbt7EHz0n2yvuD0N2BkB5hEod3_cE8YciOdf8nSczuiGi5X69MA89iTqNE2-NGSCAY91GIVIwXkbUHTiCYul76QfICFGV7cW2-9Ggk1UTKAs2BgtBitjimw4BLH/s800/IMG_3053%E5%89%AF%E6%9C%AC%E5%89%AF%E6%9C%AC.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449082867232197010" /></a><br /><br /><br />I know about the world--if the world makes any sense at all,<br />I expected too much,<br />thought too much,<br />dreamed too much---<br />but I never really fell in love with it.<br />I just want to look for a permenant position for myself.<br />Live, to live among people.<br />Everytime when I wake up to face the sorrow of an empty morning,<br />and become lost and panic-stricken again,<br />I know it's time for me to do something.<br /><br /><br /><br /><strong>The surface of the ocean is covered with dim white moon light.<br />I look at the ocean and get lost in thought.<br /></strong><br /><br /><br />Eason's song still resonates in my ears.<br />The last night in Cheng du before I came back to U.S., a friend sang it in a small quiet bar.<br />All the emotions got released along with the words<br />One of the best ways to express yourself is to sing your heart out.<br />like no one is around.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2VmK5kP0PAX3EZ_5xca1fEjDU5rSDN-d-UjjWCNOwn7oBUUVAQ4z-1cZPFR1ahPjicRW3S7WQ7KodUz2C8NNCOqKL_5OTiQlXIAYNhojIwOO5vONkmg2QLl2W8XwN5Yn7PkFVYuIUtohn/s1600-h/IMG_3087%E5%89%AF%E6%9C%AC.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 430px; height: 660px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2VmK5kP0PAX3EZ_5xca1fEjDU5rSDN-d-UjjWCNOwn7oBUUVAQ4z-1cZPFR1ahPjicRW3S7WQ7KodUz2C8NNCOqKL_5OTiQlXIAYNhojIwOO5vONkmg2QLl2W8XwN5Yn7PkFVYuIUtohn/s800/IMG_3087%E5%89%AF%E6%9C%AC.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449072413887011010" /></a>Kehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10476040597590052206noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1325364054352248833.post-40140056531994022622010-01-02T08:24:00.006-05:002010-01-02T23:01:05.764-05:00Personalities<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjjgVP7Pwb5N6hG78lgB7PI5cyYpY7NqFm6sW_IdM6PSKkWsGcxcsnwpu8e8qw8RwYrBbbOALkYZXzZyuzAYTfBczwly1nveU-Tz2Q-3g4b4HDa1RdeFQRHC6R14E-xoLnDprdHU-1Wur0/s1600-h/_HX01105.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjjgVP7Pwb5N6hG78lgB7PI5cyYpY7NqFm6sW_IdM6PSKkWsGcxcsnwpu8e8qw8RwYrBbbOALkYZXzZyuzAYTfBczwly1nveU-Tz2Q-3g4b4HDa1RdeFQRHC6R14E-xoLnDprdHU-1Wur0/s400/_HX01105.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422135161033300706" /></a><br /><br />A group of girls always exist, they never compromise and always use their own way to fight with the<br />situations that the world gives them. <br />Other people may use words like weird, crazy, and isolated to describe them.<br />In a very practical and insensitive person's eyes, how bad those girls would be?<br /><br />But I always have a deep respect and likeness towards girls like this. <br />I love the girls with unique and different ideas. <br />Brushing shoulders and maintaining special eye contact reach deep in my heart. <br />How much courage do you need to live against the human tide? <br />Their facial expressions blurred, their smiles are pale under the bright sunshine. Extreme. chilly. Proud.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimd_hzQpxPUiMZdUOR00MPul2xAdR5-nF82eQncvKs35Ops19YVHp3wFwK-hoAp5X_IfLtjvbxXg2x5-cF5O4Ah3I4lB4GnXGGupNrGWHmSl-njjzAcCnSG6gu1xNH2YMdCP1QiTkQ5WKc/s1600-h/h_large_mbQd_0ff40003e1402f74.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 302px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimd_hzQpxPUiMZdUOR00MPul2xAdR5-nF82eQncvKs35Ops19YVHp3wFwK-hoAp5X_IfLtjvbxXg2x5-cF5O4Ah3I4lB4GnXGGupNrGWHmSl-njjzAcCnSG6gu1xNH2YMdCP1QiTkQ5WKc/s400/h_large_mbQd_0ff40003e1402f74.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422133413231582210" /></a><br /><br />I hate artifical personanities, noise, huddeling together, gossip, and love of the huge ostentatious world. <br />How hard will it be to find a special soul among numerous vulgar people?<br /><br /><br />I used to read Pu Shu's lyrics aloud when I was younger.<br />A song called "mom and I" really impressed me. <br />I held the white paper with black ink under the dim light and read the lyrics, slowly.<br /><br />"I dont know why to stay, I dont know what to miss. I dont know what to do here but getting old. I drank<br />so much last night, I heard my life burning. What can I do in this world? I asked myself, what can I do?"<br /><br />"Mom I feel sick, in their world, life is about rules. It makes me unhappy.<br />Mom, you gave me life. But I messed it up. <br />They take a bus everyday between work place and home. <br />They care about food and wages. The truth is,are they all crazy or am I?"<br /><br />"But mom you know I am a piece of gold, gold will illuminate someday, sooner or later..."<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwW95yHJvoYayG0n-lIGWzaJN4g-qzGgDaccm1TUBkfUdh_AXvkfGkl2oZphzE_D_v3EffQWhRxdvTvJW6wArGIrKxCtG13X8tAEv7nr-uBJXt69Du0AowEko9Sec9KlY_QJ7dLlavGQGq/s1600-h/cjjbc+l.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwW95yHJvoYayG0n-lIGWzaJN4g-qzGgDaccm1TUBkfUdh_AXvkfGkl2oZphzE_D_v3EffQWhRxdvTvJW6wArGIrKxCtG13X8tAEv7nr-uBJXt69Du0AowEko9Sec9KlY_QJ7dLlavGQGq/s400/cjjbc+l.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422135728648262786" /></a><br /><br /><br />His songs were my compaions during my teen years. <br />About escape, hysteria, smile with tears, anxious, terrified, illusions, falling down, hurt, clean, simpler than a child. <br />Break the wings, and then fly again.<br /><br />No matter what situation I am in, his songs are always with me. <br />He sang, "Susan had a pair of magical dacing shoes that can take her away form the tiring world. <br />He sang, "see I came for you, regardless of everything." <br />He sang, "we passed through a lady's warmth and tears, passed through the endless loneliness, sadness and happiness."<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR0CespdvMKRNrNQEc886pXev6tDPGLfaTgNwFTgmmrNQalsN8itZ5gdojPAUkuHUXtTx-_3jADc_Q5FRsImCdLi9XbjRlNfKTqDjCsW9j1-ACLz8pSPDhBtap1qHyweN5raI_bFE6Px2N/s1600-h/ddsjv+k.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR0CespdvMKRNrNQEc886pXev6tDPGLfaTgNwFTgmmrNQalsN8itZ5gdojPAUkuHUXtTx-_3jADc_Q5FRsImCdLi9XbjRlNfKTqDjCsW9j1-ACLz8pSPDhBtap1qHyweN5raI_bFE6Px2N/s400/ddsjv+k.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422137603671237586" /></a>Kehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10476040597590052206noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1325364054352248833.post-72499997416097831382009-12-25T02:35:00.003-05:002009-12-25T02:46:40.045-05:00Merry ChristmasAn other year has passed.<br /><br />Time flies.<br /><br />Merry Christmas.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoh-phX1rY3WRpt9sTMHnAuirhDEMe_JJI7V7CiBhQxzqjrROtvK5jJ_wrRoZ5K0kFQnUGxg1TNO07Pqs4fEfrARpsJBJaTQ0yMnOYGJbpKu5E_upZUI13W9B3qF8lQ6e3ct3ZgvBiQRwF/s1600-h/%E6%9C%AA%E6%A0%87%E9%A2%98-4.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 323px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoh-phX1rY3WRpt9sTMHnAuirhDEMe_JJI7V7CiBhQxzqjrROtvK5jJ_wrRoZ5K0kFQnUGxg1TNO07Pqs4fEfrARpsJBJaTQ0yMnOYGJbpKu5E_upZUI13W9B3qF8lQ6e3ct3ZgvBiQRwF/s400/%E6%9C%AA%E6%A0%87%E9%A2%98-4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419076862139598162" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwLuhqPSdqALD10gEDiVxpw4_AydIyR4RE6MWbkuquL0hB-aTXA6uUwpwVqK2kKRd9BtDn31aSqAFu57sCUnJtqvfvcyL9LX53q0vNlBC-SKhtM-gUgwr2x_87U6fnr9Nq5NqkouuFIgBZ/s1600-h/%E6%94%B91.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 314px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwLuhqPSdqALD10gEDiVxpw4_AydIyR4RE6MWbkuquL0hB-aTXA6uUwpwVqK2kKRd9BtDn31aSqAFu57sCUnJtqvfvcyL9LX53q0vNlBC-SKhtM-gUgwr2x_87U6fnr9Nq5NqkouuFIgBZ/s400/%E6%94%B91.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419076635943815698" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib8WoU7DRRdO3zBHuZ96M6ealsKZqLksKscCMJhaRjWCvfUcuNLSEseskv0J7TtduEw0_GBv7-sWTNMGOUTVIMXnYPmXuLFC5WsY_HsTjZCMCo_wawZaTUdFgDOfUP_0AYtK2E6kg_POQP/s1600-h/%E6%9C%AA%E6%A0%87%E9%A2%98-5.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 325px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib8WoU7DRRdO3zBHuZ96M6ealsKZqLksKscCMJhaRjWCvfUcuNLSEseskv0J7TtduEw0_GBv7-sWTNMGOUTVIMXnYPmXuLFC5WsY_HsTjZCMCo_wawZaTUdFgDOfUP_0AYtK2E6kg_POQP/s400/%E6%9C%AA%E6%A0%87%E9%A2%98-5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419076306918768738" /></a>Kehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10476040597590052206noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1325364054352248833.post-61396853735647934812009-12-19T11:43:00.001-05:002009-12-19T12:04:01.348-05:00We are like two trains going to completely different directions.<br /><br />On the process of getting closer and closer.<br /><br />We are also getting further and further, sooner or later.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjW1jXlKqVPjYn2Jh74VHFJos6GYt8OZ2wSc38R7_vK9sUHHRdDlqcYC71vWBDbT0y15jEpKrAjK3cuo7vyadjFf18WmWx3WWU__LiamiuuD6dYXWkmRFATAPoU22fZIfkyLmXQkrLMe3T/s1600-h/_HX01540.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjW1jXlKqVPjYn2Jh74VHFJos6GYt8OZ2wSc38R7_vK9sUHHRdDlqcYC71vWBDbT0y15jEpKrAjK3cuo7vyadjFf18WmWx3WWU__LiamiuuD6dYXWkmRFATAPoU22fZIfkyLmXQkrLMe3T/s400/_HX01540.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416992011338568658" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I know, I know<br /><br />The feeling of alienation always exsits when I am among people.<br /><br /><img style="visibility:hidden;width:0px;height:0px;" border=0 width=0 height=0 src="http://counters.gigya.com/wildfire/IMP/CXNID=2000002.0NXC/bHQ9MTI2MTI*MDk4MDM3MSZwdD*xMjYxMjQxMDIwNzEzJnA9Mzg2MzYxJmQ9Jm49YmxvZ2dlciZnPTEmbz**NjJhOTMzZmNjOGE*YWIwYThkODI4NTQ4NGU4Y2RiYiZvZj*w.gif" /><a href="http://s162.photobucket.com/albums/t279/wk631/?action=view¤t=_HX01162.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t279/wk631/_HX01162.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a><br /><br />And,<br /><br />You took my heart and breathe away.<br /><br />You took my pride and light away.<br /><br /><br /><img style="visibility:hidden;width:0px;height:0px;" border=0 width=0 height=0 src="http://counters.gigya.com/wildfire/IMP/CXNID=2000002.0NXC/bHQ9MTI2MTI*MDk4MDM3MSZwdD*xMjYxMjQxMDIwNzEzJnA9Mzg2MzYxJmQ9Jm49YmxvZ2dlciZnPTEmbz**NjJhOTMzZmNjOGE*YWIwYThkODI4NTQ4NGU4Y2RiYiZvZj*w.gif" /><a href="http://s162.photobucket.com/albums/t279/wk631/?action=view¤t=_HX01569.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t279/wk631/_HX01569.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a>Kehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10476040597590052206noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1325364054352248833.post-18144937168701816812009-11-03T17:58:00.000-05:002009-11-04T10:02:02.558-05:00One time she got lost<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo0js5bVgyQgaV_3EmaBRkTtJD6UpTOf-DXlA64H6AxYVYFBi7D22OZFaGfy8rh5sdYS4xXNvBu5SPXXIFfotlS5JFgU2rKM6sYFOOf_pnhfs2bkIU2yznUzLZVUyunjuQ9e-Q1iFfbR8T/s1600-h/CSC_3519.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo0js5bVgyQgaV_3EmaBRkTtJD6UpTOf-DXlA64H6AxYVYFBi7D22OZFaGfy8rh5sdYS4xXNvBu5SPXXIFfotlS5JFgU2rKM6sYFOOf_pnhfs2bkIU2yznUzLZVUyunjuQ9e-Q1iFfbR8T/s400/CSC_3519.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400016324844746962" /></a><br />That autumn was as awesome as this one.<br />The fallen leaves were everywhere.<br />She was so happy to think there would be someone to walk with her from then on.<br />You two held hands, you looked away to somewhere far, she lowered her head to see your shoes.<br />Her black long hair looked like a wonderful waterful under the sunshine.<br /><br /><br />She thought you would keep walking till the end.<br />When she was confused, she would shake your little finger,<br />and then asked:" What should we do?"<br />You would always tell her where to go.<br />You were purer and cleaner than the water.<br />You were her hope, you were her sun.<br />You would lead her to the other side of the ocean.<br />You were her direction.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT2sHxu2Ve0jXPvOM__VhZfu4jSZyVxCZCwiuku9Zrn6loW56isqEVu5CfyxPZInKTjSNzQ6AF37LheNwBSFEWMYkTz-lAVrfsPPDPZgpW_MXw4FkGl1rJT0F0HsTGb5wSCtHXnZGwOaHA/s1600-h/us.bmp"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT2sHxu2Ve0jXPvOM__VhZfu4jSZyVxCZCwiuku9Zrn6loW56isqEVu5CfyxPZInKTjSNzQ6AF37LheNwBSFEWMYkTz-lAVrfsPPDPZgpW_MXw4FkGl1rJT0F0HsTGb5wSCtHXnZGwOaHA/s400/us.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400018228439096802" /></a><br /><br />She walked for a long time, happily.<br />Then suddenly she found she lost you.<br />She lowered her head, only to see her own shoes.<br />She raised her head, but she couldn't find her direction anymore.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0MciV73_bsLUakpscBUmAiWsN_Kiz57j8d0wu6s129AEPtbq0-sfG7VGBNlyzQraiDGnRzS8dDmeWSNsZ0qxxZTkvUUUgbJaXMl4rFCqymc9pwLAWxPYLhiSFC17Coz9cexs0F4HBM_Qx/s1600-h/IMG_2650.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0MciV73_bsLUakpscBUmAiWsN_Kiz57j8d0wu6s129AEPtbq0-sfG7VGBNlyzQraiDGnRzS8dDmeWSNsZ0qxxZTkvUUUgbJaXMl4rFCqymc9pwLAWxPYLhiSFC17Coz9cexs0F4HBM_Qx/s400/IMG_2650.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400019086939790162" /></a>Kehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10476040597590052206noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1325364054352248833.post-34809262251757678312009-10-21T02:07:00.000-04:002009-10-21T07:09:11.412-04:00In the show lie to me,<br />They say the more popular you are, the more you have to lie.<br />The same face can have various expressions in front of different people.<br />Pretend to be liked.<br />Pretend to have many friends.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFdWzJAQG9td-IlPtu5O4QmHkZsJrss5BAR3eVLEoy1UK-2qTUirkmR2-dfiVhZXEp2bZ2CO0qJaoPB7fRBesSO2WUUGaT-dbkG87H9adDMMAzXtjIACAvYD0Qa1gzl-d5QvGcMa5O4QK6/s1600-h/9303033232009t.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFdWzJAQG9td-IlPtu5O4QmHkZsJrss5BAR3eVLEoy1UK-2qTUirkmR2-dfiVhZXEp2bZ2CO0qJaoPB7fRBesSO2WUUGaT-dbkG87H9adDMMAzXtjIACAvYD0Qa1gzl-d5QvGcMa5O4QK6/s400/9303033232009t.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394963839443668514" /></a><br /><br />The fact is<br />we want to make most people happy by lying and pretending<br />or just make ourselves happy by always telling the truth to ourselves?<br />If we choose the latter, more or less we would feel lonely and kind of abandoned by people.<br />For me losing myself is much worse than being lonely.<br />So no matter how much I am not understood by anyone around me,<br />I will always follow the light that exists deep within me.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYVgsNgU9giHoyxI4QBAkMWH1rplopsy__JiFe5o_BdJJ48L14A44n5d2QHNO83dBfK8rzNmZAiRS77RKqyXvshYKBJSo_lmb1Sy4hBPAM-5_-lQIPPIRD3NjxqqG5589_tRiUIVGZaki0/s1600-h/823726212009t.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 337px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYVgsNgU9giHoyxI4QBAkMWH1rplopsy__JiFe5o_BdJJ48L14A44n5d2QHNO83dBfK8rzNmZAiRS77RKqyXvshYKBJSo_lmb1Sy4hBPAM-5_-lQIPPIRD3NjxqqG5589_tRiUIVGZaki0/s400/823726212009t.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394952782800403442" /></a><br /><br /><br />The world is too complicated, and the society is too sophisticated.<br />Somtimes I think I'm a girl who is allergic to the real world,<br />trying my best to love it,<br />and also planning secretly to leave it and escape to my own world, my own insistance.<br />Nothing can stop me from living the life I want,<br />stop me from getting to a higher place than this world,<br />no matter it's poor or rich, ostentatious or wonderful, vulgar or noble.<br />I will accept it for what it is.<br />Even if it's just conjecture, just some place that only exists in my mind that I hope to surport my soul.<br />Even if the truth behind it is nothingness.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR-F9GDEqya3Dn9AekzSggEmkvQfPMirBanoRyXsSjoE-RFx6uFmXntsLzcLJw19mrj4FSMh3kIj5E8gzH-BQSLn5Tn6cY-eB1pr2Kq7gjQZhehULnh_0pMBVEW3YvF9PUwk3cuVPCI1iL/s1600-h/9252945122009t.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR-F9GDEqya3Dn9AekzSggEmkvQfPMirBanoRyXsSjoE-RFx6uFmXntsLzcLJw19mrj4FSMh3kIj5E8gzH-BQSLn5Tn6cY-eB1pr2Kq7gjQZhehULnh_0pMBVEW3YvF9PUwk3cuVPCI1iL/s400/9252945122009t.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394961312663395138" /></a><br /><br /><br />Now I'm sitting here in front my desk, drinking some water.<br />Outside of the window, a girl is singing<br /><br />"As summer has gone, collapsed like a chair,like the heart of a bird,a bell in the air."Kehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10476040597590052206noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1325364054352248833.post-13610177934551626242009-10-04T04:01:00.000-04:002009-10-04T04:45:29.093-04:00Long Lonely Tuesday AfternoonsI used to hate Tuesday afternoons so much when I was in elementary school.<br />Because every Tuesday afternoon ,all the TV channels had no signal.<br />The screen appeared to be many quiet colorful strips.<br />I didn't know that was because all the TV stations needed to be fixed on Tuesday afternoons.<br />The only thing I knew was how much I hated Tuesday afternoons.<br />Every Tuesday afternoon, I would stay in my small dark bedroom, waiting for 6:00 to come.<br />When it started to get dark, at 6:00,the vivid pictures would show again.<br />I didn't really care what the pictures were,<br />I just knew at that moment ,I kicked the loneliness out from my heart and blood.<br />I became excited again.<br />Back then it was so easy for me to get the loneliness away.<br />I easily became happy for the small things.<br />I was not afraid of anything but the long lonely Tuesday afternoons.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGWkr5kJAgNKTaD23jue-2jUQhEb3k9lZxVvf9E3Y73j3iyZqPRdDZt82sPDureiihFw82PUc3JjNG28_ruvGzAolfaEM_bMog3dnW6pqyyY4roDvHoF5wBv-WwySmRJ96_goOR6ijTi4j/s1600-h/IMG_2373.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGWkr5kJAgNKTaD23jue-2jUQhEb3k9lZxVvf9E3Y73j3iyZqPRdDZt82sPDureiihFw82PUc3JjNG28_ruvGzAolfaEM_bMog3dnW6pqyyY4roDvHoF5wBv-WwySmRJ96_goOR6ijTi4j/s400/IMG_2373.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388663077443931042" /></a><br /><br /><br />The loneliness we had when we were young can never compare with the loneliness we have now.<br /><br />When we were young ,the loneliness was the Tuesday afternoons,<br />but at night ,the signal would come back. Everything would be normal.<br />When we were young, the loneliness was some beautiful toys we couldn't get,<br />but when New Year or other festivals came, our parents would always buy them for us.<br />When we were young, the loneliness was when a few classmates transfered to another school,<br />but soon some other new classmates would join us, and then we would make new friends.<br />When we were young, it was so easy for us to get satisfied------<br />It was like walking in a long hall with many clap on lights,<br />we would get into the dark at times,<br />but as long as we kept walking by claping our hands,<br />we would see the light again.<br /><br />The loneliness we have now is that all the clap on lights were changed into normal lights,we will never get into the dark anymore.<br />But when we look around, no one is here.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUixIMxlD64hkpUEpCmTcEeqoZpUyWsjyXT76U7xqZ-ywMEi2uClemqlXUZF2TArj9wGm8xmoQxAxehx2GlcMP4DPfBo5e6ck5CNrilTjxg5cj60TQmWDMJZiYZXOr7btxk1yS5gi12siy/s1600-h/p_large_IpYC_13600004593b2d0e%5B1%5D.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUixIMxlD64hkpUEpCmTcEeqoZpUyWsjyXT76U7xqZ-ywMEi2uClemqlXUZF2TArj9wGm8xmoQxAxehx2GlcMP4DPfBo5e6ck5CNrilTjxg5cj60TQmWDMJZiYZXOr7btxk1yS5gi12siy/s400/p_large_IpYC_13600004593b2d0e%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388660420989906370" /></a>Kehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10476040597590052206noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1325364054352248833.post-56667723652608223552009-09-26T02:23:00.000-04:002009-09-26T04:09:41.344-04:00AutumnIt's already autumn, a very beautiful season for memories.<br />I remember the mild and cool autumn when I was in Holland<br />There were so many golden fallen leaves on the ground.<br />They lay on the ground with a lonely posture,<br />waiting for their bodies to be crushed by the cars, bikes, and people's shoes.<br />Broken.<br />And then the city became quiet. The sky was grey.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrHWWOQ0tovDBfhou7MZvfEvBHtbwWFEllSmWq6lCereBnhmuRj6MmhkXqj6MIaI4RfQXidr67Srie16SZCsvSRcGU4TbOcakdCSMC3iuqkF2v2zbznH9GjV2E8zhlt1Lbb4ggOLXBASCZ/s1600-h/IMG_5516.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrHWWOQ0tovDBfhou7MZvfEvBHtbwWFEllSmWq6lCereBnhmuRj6MmhkXqj6MIaI4RfQXidr67Srie16SZCsvSRcGU4TbOcakdCSMC3iuqkF2v2zbznH9GjV2E8zhlt1Lbb4ggOLXBASCZ/s400/IMG_5516.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385683493318964370" /></a><br /><br />Compared with spring bloosoms, the lonely quiet autumns are always better for me.<br />Walking alone on the street, enjoying the golden leaves,<br />It's easy to become emotional.<br /><br /><br />Living in the city with wacky dreams, sometimes I just feel so empty.<br />The reality seems to be too complicated at times.<br />When things are too clear, I just feel indifferent and bored.<br />When things aren't clear, I feel panic and worried.<br />The feeling is like putting headphones in the ears,<br />and turning the volumn up to the extreme, till the ears hurt<br />It feels like being separated from the world.<br />It feels like my existence has nothing to do with this world.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicifr_iyCQ90Z4fjssr1rBjOWZfeUK0VH09dPXGJ68OVwSgCYSg6oAu8WU3yzASxNheb-CRDg186vdNPyE8lPpsGKMk3gDtjflA5KdRuYFCJkgXm5zqAJoAOpCdg_tM0iWBCOOzctp2E4m/s1600-h/me+random.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicifr_iyCQ90Z4fjssr1rBjOWZfeUK0VH09dPXGJ68OVwSgCYSg6oAu8WU3yzASxNheb-CRDg186vdNPyE8lPpsGKMk3gDtjflA5KdRuYFCJkgXm5zqAJoAOpCdg_tM0iWBCOOzctp2E4m/s400/me+random.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385683909789445906" /></a>Kehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10476040597590052206noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1325364054352248833.post-3452853026906119842009-09-15T02:40:00.000-04:002009-09-15T05:48:18.283-04:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuKjJhiDvAOzXBRgniLWPTgQ_NYRut21aTF63CCOusdUSqPPW-ZoGAV43IGNpHEkjna09YacJZiLOu2MRDXwWlZbHrDGLLgVy6H93b1pmNReeM7zIVaSJ5ESs9MGE-ci6pZ8gWF07JdtmZ/s1600-h/IMG_2319.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuKjJhiDvAOzXBRgniLWPTgQ_NYRut21aTF63CCOusdUSqPPW-ZoGAV43IGNpHEkjna09YacJZiLOu2MRDXwWlZbHrDGLLgVy6H93b1pmNReeM7zIVaSJ5ESs9MGE-ci6pZ8gWF07JdtmZ/s400/IMG_2319.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381595145284979458" /></a><br /><br /><br />You think you are special.<br /><br /><br />Or<br /><br /><br />You wish you were special.<br /><br /><br /><br />When she saw your broken body , she cried.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNNkSqqm4IKXfRVv38US4Y79I4tr87cp5DcaUap0krsSN1SuvuKpxMc-mYqb1303PKXBOCHpl3B8PQ5pmu9o4sZS5eCwT8ssYCggdijRIu6WmrhL9Ix5ZoxG7QdHE2YPsi17641rxKuv8N/s1600-h/IMG_2317.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNNkSqqm4IKXfRVv38US4Y79I4tr87cp5DcaUap0krsSN1SuvuKpxMc-mYqb1303PKXBOCHpl3B8PQ5pmu9o4sZS5eCwT8ssYCggdijRIu6WmrhL9Ix5ZoxG7QdHE2YPsi17641rxKuv8N/s400/IMG_2317.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381595592690617362" /></a><br /><br />But I said<br /><br /> <br /><br />Just go love yourself.<br /><br /><br /><br />You will jump into a mirror-like lake on a warm summer morning<br /><br /><br /><br />and fall in love with your own shadow.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3N1iU1JOlIP3gJGfKiuZ-keixEh_5O9pAkqc8vRn0QovBVM1y6OCafAh9Gc7kaCMRdHxq7HDWNzhajV6ZLjigt5x2-1rQ90m-Qw0_mN3I3zUcbRE9biJY9dCe1WEDstx0hawz9hRPCVNF/s1600-h/P1020150.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3N1iU1JOlIP3gJGfKiuZ-keixEh_5O9pAkqc8vRn0QovBVM1y6OCafAh9Gc7kaCMRdHxq7HDWNzhajV6ZLjigt5x2-1rQ90m-Qw0_mN3I3zUcbRE9biJY9dCe1WEDstx0hawz9hRPCVNF/s400/P1020150.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381628674931739138" /></a>Kehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10476040597590052206noreply@blogger.com6