Articles on cardamom

Part One: Cardamom book some lonely, never wrote the dialogue, from the tip of my heart leaped over.Remember that a whitening line that time, I put my hand on the neck buckle, can not see the color of the sky.  Imagine far there had been hope, the kind of simple complaints.In the young bear, in addition to learning, we also left the mellow mature.Sometimes that lie on the desk, in the territory in a book tour, there are both good and crazy blame.Not comfort unselected process, to make a simple croon, the dream of a coating color cage.  See another tree high heels, familiar blade folded my heart silence, music strikes.See through deep eyes, leaving a turned back, up in the wind kiss.I remember that in the years inside Indian melody, year, season, there is a slight stretch of mouth.From the classroom to the playground, arrogant music, break open our oppression.Stopped at the Pan pain palm, alone, give yourself a chance to smile.  Forget to live their commitment, repeat again from the perk, the continuation of an incoherent sorrow.Classes will raise in the head, around the circle fantasy wings, some sticky life.Even with their agreement are beginning to have tears, I stretched out his hand, cross.Many times sitting in the window, do not know why it is so beloved outside of camphor.That turned aside the spring festival, established in the summer of cool, dry body melt in late autumn, the more I could not refuse this encounter.  It lies on the table black and white volumes, does not mean graffiti, balled throw to.Not just dig heart, in this so-called heavy exercise, there is a certain vanity.Forget the lonely, buried in time and space of this book, a strange face.To the last dig pen, Lueqi sleeves, dodge capture stuffiness panic.  He gave himself the indulgence of the mirror told regret, but do not have to flow through the tears of sorrow.The answer has to fill that absence of practice, out of a piece of paper, draw a simple conclusion.Watched Spring to winter, to pay homage by the wind, but ultimately can not duck that has a sentimental disaster.I have had neatly cry on that playground, very straight through my intoxicated, leaven my accident, vividly in my diary.  Climbs fashionable singer in the tilt of the times in some vain.White pants washed by the clean, not accustomed to blush in front of girls.Not found hidden in the eyes of the humble, unbridled in that classroom concert.That pure smile, along with each other’s feeling, the heart will shake drunk.Became familiar through the hallway, then lift the wall of the list, fill me grief.  Habit canteen green onion tofu, then that a lot of noisy, watching some ambiguous, not drive their own vision.Always want to be too perfect, that is not the Shaohua, always feel fade away.Random bad hair samples, flat shoes, bicycles, I remember lying on the students under the camphor tree.  Maybe I’ll remember the color of the edge of youth, even if she had run away with thoughts of truth lies.  Cardamom, N years after a recall have the same dream.    Part II: He cardamom tree outside the window, crying and winter wind.  Clock back, that season, barefoot, ran a small ditch next rain.  I can not see myself.  That year, or a child.  Shoulder Messenger cloth bag, running up the ass looks crackle.Sometimes, small flying insects will not intentionally drilled into the eyes, then stopped, carefully rub eyes until the tears flow down, the bugs away.  Many days, many years has gone before.A group of wide-eyed child, grab a glass child children dirty, kick ass, lying on the floor playing days have been passed over time big book, no bookmarks, no longer turn back.Sauna net So we traveled road Changzhangduanduan, very distinct to a clearing.  This is an open space, but there is quiet and peaceful on the green ooze, and clean stone bench.  Or, clear lake, there is a stone boat unsinkable.Occasionally, there is a thin moon light brilliantly, chic, very serene place shone.  Sometimes, against the wind.The beginning of winter, there will be a fall foliage.Well, so young, so seriously alive, it is not a beautiful thing?  Its ups and downs, our faces have so innocent smile.  They say there will be many stories waiting for his right.Wait until through this piece of open space, never empty our pockets.    Part III: Cardamom fingertips, you write poetry hot summer night, spitting smoke ring pray for you, those mist drift away, volatilization who is Love, the story of the fall Xie.Xie who falls in with a melancholy, sentimental who.  - Inscription in light gray night, I did not know you pay homage to the left, is not no looking back over.  I did not know I was waiting, this is not to continue.  Maybe when the wind blows, someone will miss the blooming flowers tied in, then accompanied by flowers, filled an entire season; in the dust of time, gradually buried.You can not find or hear, because you do not know.  Number of hearts a little bit of time elapsed from the day you disappear, I have forgotten this is the first of several summer.In the gaps between eyes open and eyes closed, what will change nothing in the.  I can still remember the beginning of the story, is so clearly remember that period in the past, that at this picture.Edge of the city, you come a long section of the road, clear Mouzhong slightly tired, black hair was in April fiddle wind was a bit messy, a few ears hanging over that network kept swinging in the wind, your hand, with the ring finger to gently pluck the hanging on the lips of a Rose, revealing a touch of shallow smile.That season began soaring Indus flowers, on that day, I put away look tempting, you guessing for a while in the past, wrote in a footnote in this poetic.  And later, that also extends the banks of the lake grass side, and who was there, looking at the lake with white highlights of black and gray space?At that time the wind, who did not have time to hold anyone’s hand?Let denounced burst of bitterness over the entire Ke heart, with tears, looking at who is away in the back?  I know you go, both now and in the future, forever gone.All about you, have become memories.  I’m still in this lonely night, overlooking those who always leave the leaden clouds.With the breeze off memories, recurring your shadow.My thoughts, you know?  Those who unmasked a few scattered stars, sparkle and moving emotions who?In a corner of memory, migraine points in the direction you away!Gray crescent, still reflected in this piece of yellow lake.Who often sadly here, praying hands clip a cigarette?Those floating off to smoke, who tied the hope of disappearing in the dark gray world?  You have appeared here it?Flash in the pan, let me write here a lifetime of waiting.  If, I mean if, that night I had time to use my shoulder portrayed the moment, but I can not clearly time to reach the scene, very messy, complicated sparkle like the stars, how to put together a little bit, Lianzhui Cheng Wen?Still have a man wandering in the intermittent memories.  I am not alone, at least not when you want.I wrote every word short thoughts have been folded into a paper boat, drifting in this yellowish lake, like a lotus in full bloom, you Kan Bukan get?do you know?I’m still here, where you went to go?  Moon homesick feelings, what?I desire for you but also how?Is not this the midnight quiet, the fiddle verdant grass swaying, let thoughts go disperses?  So be it!No sleep tonight, and wanted to write this poem is not a poem for you.  Former Lake / shallow shoulder touch / your shadow as the misty rain south / open in the spring in that quarter / write poetry for you / I am filled with restless miss / wind lingering / emotional in the changing / Scarecrow Rye / can you go see in the distance.  Cardamom fingertips Love / fleeting light-hearted touch / gorgeous in this bright summer night / moon and the stars dilute / I acquiesced in silence / inexplicable think of you / my life guarding the mystery / non shortness of palpitations / the only irreplaceable.    Part Four: Should not leave standing on the tail of cardamom, nothing will grow Fuli!  - High, Zi Jun – the time unconsciously, I always slow in responding, so, again and again.Time to leave me, vigorous away, leaving one person I looked in place.The outcome can not be changed, unable to restore mess.It’s just, can not escape fate, just.  Silhouette old days now, I have to really say goodbye to junior high school, to high school.Heart, mixed feelings.Originally thought to be of no worry to forget them.At least, not Qiannian.Originally thought, feelings of apathy, new things will dilute memory.However, I found I was wrong.I forgot, I’m a nostalgic person.I can not forget.So remember saying, forget, is a betrayal.Dear you, okay?  Looking at our graduation photo, then the tears fall.I hate my weaknesses, how do?Miss you, and copper north, always second class three years.In this we have many times after school, I silently miss you.You can not substitute.Hiding in a given time, I think those smiles that time, now scattered horizon of children.  That day, soldiers and civilians Festival opened in the auditorium.Sitting in a familiar position, in the same place, but never to you.We have held here, the red songs, readings, lectures we have here, here, we had reserved memory.Their indifference alienated, I could not help but miss you.In this very familiar at this time but feel exceptionally strange place, I want to cry, but can not find a shoulder to lean on.Perhaps only you will accommodate my wayward and stubborn.Want you, want to want.  Small microcosm of the times in the brutal competition in this class, their enthusiasm and lively and I really formed a great contrast, does not like publicity, do not like the hustle and bustle, I do not like the performance.I, a man secretly whisper it.No one will understand, no one would care, no one will close.In the 18 classes, I can not find their orientation.Their lively discussion, but I can not join.Perhaps such a nature, can not be changed.In fact, I do not want, really do not want.  I am a slow type of kids, nostalgic, nostalgia.Hate to be isolated, but every moment of the isolation.When idle bored, often “the ancient sages are lonely” consolation.In fact, very lonely heart, the same desire for warmth.But, everyone is rushing toil for their own lives, where people will want to?Who would focus on this bleak for me?It is all false, who is really who really put?Who really feel bad for whom?Inexperienced at the beginning, full of bitterness.  Classmate love the reflection of something perhaps only after a time of sharpening, will gradually clear.Is not often speak before the students, now seen also feel exceptionally cordial.Those days, I entered the school from the south gate.See Chiang Kai-shek, Spring.They greeted me and a long-lost intimacy will be blowing.I have yet to meet a child is so easy, a little warmth, a greeting can make me happy for a long time.Friend, perhaps only experienced parting, will make the friendship even more mellow.That day, walking down the road, walked the pace of broken pieces.Suddenly, I heard someone call my name.Looking back, is Xiaoman.Each other not too many words, but laugh, to suffice.The so-called friends, than this.Without too much rhetoric to modify, just a look, a smile, is enough.  Some people, has remained the same, never betray.Some people, inconstant, half-heartedly.Thank you, brother, and sister Xiao Jie accompanied all the way, thank you, really thank you.In the seemingly familiar but in reality this strange school, there are brother and sister to take care of, we should have been very happy.Each think now, many hearts will be relieved.There are silly girl Xiao Jie, after another phone, so I feel that they are human care.Thank you, my buddies are.To have met you, my life is great happiness.  No matter how far ahead the road how fold, I will take his dream and move forward.  Cardamom standing on the tail, look to the past, look to the future.New beginning, a new future.