Magicgames II » le helplessly. But I don't k

In the summer afternoon, I came to the lonely attic. Open the drawer, a picture of the elementary school is in front of the eyes, across the shallow dust, looking at the slightly raised smile in the photo, a feeling of coexistence and joy in the heart. This feeling of quiet spread, how long ago, some people, some things, gradually emerged, like being saved from a black hole, the heart is easy. The old wine of the old age is more and more vigorous. Those who are as pure as the air on the plateau, such as the sweet childhood of the wine, like the burnt red mark, printed in the depths of their minds, although some hidden, but looming, can not be forgotten. It��s like a gorgeous dream. However, it is time to say goodbye. There is a small pond next to the old home on the hillside. The water is very clear and clear. Behind the pond is the extraordinarily peaceful hillside, which is full of trees. Behind the mountain is a piece of graveyard. Under the blue sky and pure white clouds, enjoying the baptism of the sun, leaning against the clear water of the hills is a paradise for my childhood. Every weekend, I climbed up the hill in the afternoon when the sun was sloppy, sitting on a bare big rock, like the king of the world overlooking everything under the mountain: creek, buffalo, green grass. From time to time, there were a few arrogant winds blowing unintelligible, and the sand and stones flying next to me, I closed my eyes and peeped into the world of peace and harmony in a tiny gap. As if you were addicted to drugs, it was an indispensable part of the week to climb the hills in the afternoon. When I started from the age of seven or eight, I especially had a "time concept"; every day I looked at the time on the wall and counted it? Because my family's clock has never been allowed, so as soon as I go to the central news network every day, I will rush to the front of the clock, excitedly count the time difference, and then report to my grandparents. I don't know why, it may be inherently sensitive to numbers. Watching me appear on the clock every day on time, my grandparents only smile helplessly. But I don't know when the clock suddenly became very accurate. This made me very disappointed. From then on, I was repulsive to the numbers, which directly led me to hate the Spring and Autumn Festival in the future. My home is in the south, and it is not too cold in winter; often, when the autumn and winter are handed over, the air in the cool silk is slightly dry, which is a good season for the migratory birds to return south. When I was ten years old, I often stood on the balcony and looked up at the migratory birds of Nangui. I always had a feeling of flying, eager to move, and longing for freedom. At that time, an unscrupulous mentality was in my heart Cigarettes For Sale. Got roots. If I can fly away like a migratory bird and follow everything in freedom, then there is no regret for childhood, and I will not be imprisoned after all. And now, the new road is in front of you Marlboro Red.