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The stars and rivers in the sky turn, the world changes, and the counts are repeated. I always think of the time when I was young, and I always think of that window, I remember the years of my loneliness, my joy, my life. Those times belong to the window sill. The window sill is actually clean. There is no dust or traces of vicissitudes, and occasionally winds whistling through the cracks and screaming with horror. Transparent glass cuts off the world - half in the window and half out of the window. When I was young, I was always locked at home. I was holding my eyes in the warm sunshine of the afternoon. I watched the sparrows coming and going out of the window, and watching the teenagers who passed by and the speeding cars. I didn��t remember the look of a crappy movie. I didn��t remember what kind of mood I was at that time, but I remember clearly, the kind of loneliness from sunrise to sunset. I can only look out the window, watching the smudges of the smudged smudges in the snow, counting the time to linger. You see, the ripples of the clouds in the sky are soft and dreamy. The sunset of Xishen smeared the sky with brilliant colors, and smudged a dreamy cute. The green vines on the slope of the road are struggling to grow from the bottom of the slope, and a lush green onion can't touch the palm of the sun. In the place where it was used to pile up garbage, the flower that was opened until the evening Marlboro Red, was opened in the bloody sun, and was dyed into a sunset glow. In fact, I can't see the big white flowers in the window. I just saw the pure white snow in the dust flying in the sky, and peeked at the bustling night. That is a flower that only lasts for one night. When I was young, I was so quietly attached to the glass. The short hair did not fly with the wind, but I clearly heard the sound of whistling. Condensed eve Yan Rongguang, it is said that the Iraqi people in Malay heard that Xi Yan is a woman who suddenly disappeared from the jade; I heard that Xi Yan is never scattered in the face; I heard that it is never in life. Lost warmth. Behind the big glory is the increasingly thick arm of Ginkgo, the green leaves of the waves are generally tumbling Carton Of Cigarettes, and the blue tide is smashed in the sun. Is the message of the sea brought by the wind that has traveled long distances? I am crouching on the window sill, eager for the sea, the small window sill can't bear my loneliness, I can only sneak up the sun and sneak through the pace, see him smudge the half-day glory of those glory, those ginkgo faces The beautiful pictures are in my eyes and I am contaminated by my desolate mail Marlboro Cigarettes. They decorate my window and decorate my young color window sill. The small one can't hold my young heart; The young heart is always so big and big enough to get the whole world. When I was young, I always wanted to escape from the trap that trapped me. After I fled, I never lost sight of it. I cried and laughed and cried, and then I couldn't find the exact word. Suddenly I felt that all the strengths had disappeared. I could only silence, but silence, only silence. Silence, silence, is it in the accumulation of energy bursts or brewing a quiet silence? What should I pay for you, my window sill, my passing years, my young years
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