it does not matter does not hurt.

[2vt8c2p4]

One person climbed
noon that once belonged to two people touching, leaving behind many fond memories of the hill. When I set foot on that road, my heart could not help think of the previous bit by bit,beats by dre, but I have to force myself to forget those who have tried the best they can amnesia. Can not afford now find themselves really love, and a lot of happiness can not afford anymore. 2010 One day, a cry, a person laugh, no one will care about me, all my fault, all my own doing. Who would really feel bad, love really gone for some time, forgotten? I really can not, really did not want to be treated that way I had always considered to be devout belief in love.

used to think that two days would be far better, love the opportunity to be a lot,beats by dre, but unfortunately some people, some things really turned around for a lifetime, no old gentle enough to each other, vows. When a person walking in that small way, I remembered once the scenes,tods, if you know last month, 9 is our last piece of the familiar path to go, I will every step should be a good value, so that piece of road does not end.

set foot on the mountain when, I found myself a lot these days, be strong, a man sitting on the stone stairs, tears in his eyes there is not even tears. Think of someone over the top of the mountain many times, then felt a long mountain road, his head all summer sweat, but still very happy. Now a place to stay in every moment of meditation when he suddenly found that the mountain is very low, a quarter of an hour let me come to the summit, is not previously have not had time to enjoy the beautiful scenery along the way, and for that short-term memories.

a person to climb the mountain, I do not know want to return to their former, or of those who in the spring of 2010, the first day to be a farewell, mixed feelings can not be pale language. All those who have little sense of happiness is a luxury of nostalgia, so I have been a long time to not return to the

every day to record their feelings,tods shoes, do not know when everything will be buried to have no traces of all that you can not take it no all. Next to those familiar with the environment, to hear people talking about the places that we no longer aching. New Year approached, this year should belong to one person over it, you will never forget the people who appear this year, the story, this winter, this year's year.

after all, a person can not live in the memory, but I do not know how to escape from this I never thought a love song deep posterior one, I can not find the way out. The past have often irregular surfaced, let me sleep at night, day after day. The spirit of friends that I did not look very gaunt. I smiled and did not answer, because I know that is the heart haggard. Waiting quietly desperate, perhaps disheartened when the strike is over all, does not matter the pain,tods men, it does not matter does not hurt.

Now your life without me, as long as you remember,dre beats, although we no longer inseparable as before, but at least we have his head with a blue sky, marching the foot of the same piece of green grass, breathing the same air, perhaps in a corner you can smell the flavor, in a moment like you see a familiar smile.

Since then, I am oversensitive, a person familiar to climb the mountain, and can feel the warmth of all that, it looks like those who are familiar with the stone steps, also very good.


she burst into tears

难以禁止怀念

so a couple. The girl is very beautiful


We were driving along the road from Treguier to Kervanda. We passed at a smart trot between the hedges topping an earth wall on each side of the road; then at the foot of the steep ascent before Ploumar the horse dropped into a walk, and the driver jumped down heavily from the box. He flicked his whip and climbed the incline, stepping clumsily uphill by the side of the carriage, one hand on the footboard, his eyes on the ground. After a while he lifted his head, pointed up the road with the end of the whip, and said--
"The idiot!"
The sun was shining violently upon the undulating surface of the land. The rises were topped by clumps of meagre trees, with their branches showing high on the sky as if they had been perched upon stilts. The small fields, cut up by hedges and stone walls that zig-zagged over the slopes, lay in rectangular patches of vivid greens and yellows, resembling the unskilful daubs of a naive picture. And the landscape was divided in two by the white streak of a road stretching in long loops far away, like a river of dust crawling out of the hills on its way to the sea.
"Here he is," said the driver, again.
In the long grass bordering the road a face glided past the carriage at the level of the wheels as we drove slowly by. The imbecile face was red, and the bullet head with close-cropped hair seemed to lie alone, its chin in the dust. The body was lost in the bushes growing thick along the bottom of the deep ditch.