In fact, we are all a traveler, constantly walking on this road of life, constantly in and out of this door. What brought to this world is the end of a field, the beginning of a bureau. With regard to those nights, memories are always surging, like waves that are constantly rolling in the wind. For those years, the roads that have been walked are always lonely, and the fate seems to be destined by the gods. The ending of the matter is dead and unsatisfactory, even. It is the opposite. I think, is it true that I am doing something wrong, or that I always violate the will of God, sometimes I don��t understand it, and sometimes I don��t want to say it. Confused, walking like a dead body. But I don't know what this life is for, perhaps, is waiting for a person, a new life about those years, crying, laughing, happy, and sad. Hiding in the night, a little bit of silent years, a little, a little release of the true self. In those years Marlboro Lights, the night and the day are always the opposite. I spent the day in the dark, but in the dark, I passed the day. All kinds of things, good or bad. Between the day and the night, the cycle has gone a long way, and I can no longer return to some origin. In the past, all kinds of things have become a smoky, or a mark on the bottom of my heart, forever hidden in my heart. Some people say that youth is sinful, and teenagers are wasting the most beautiful time of their lives day after day. I have experienced too many scenery in the playful room and lost too many opportunities in the playful room. I have warned myself that the steps don't go too fast, always turn your head and look at the scenery on the side of the road. Perhaps, my warning to myself is wrong. Unconsciously, confusion in this world's bustling, slower and slower... More and more want to stop here permanently, the permanent about those people may be God is destined to be good, I can not stay here permanently I will continue to let me meet those people. Countless, it seems to be the rising star in the star. However, there are only so many bright ones, the rest, or become a meteor, completely degraded in my world; some, perhaps because the distance is getting farther and become bleak, some days ago, there is a sister in QQ Chatting, somehow I chatted about the people around me. She suddenly said to me: There are too many people around, and they can't tell the truth. I suddenly silenced a lot, and for a long time I returned two words to her: Guess Cigarettes Online. I haven��t been talking for a long time, I��ve been staring at the phone for a long time. She said to me, ��There are not many bright stars in my night sky.�� I sent a heart to me and hurried off the line when I saw her. After the avatar turns gray, the brain is chaotic. There are too many people around, just can't tell the truth. We are all bright in each other's night sky, but there are too few real ones, the real ones are people, the fake ones are the hearts. It is like the star in the night of the night, bright and faint, the real star is there, but the distance is getting farther and farther, but the star is getting more and more bleak. Looking at the increasingly faint star Newport 100S, the heart is constantly twitching, trying to pull up an infinite curtain, covering the entire night sky. Just, no, because you know, there are bright ones that are always lit. About that, sometimes I still write stories, always write stories that are not related to myself. Because writing my own story is too exhausting, sometimes it will be very embarrassing. The story about her, he, it, is constantly extending in the pen, and the ending is always as perfect as I am yearning for. Maybe because I always work with my life, my ending is always It is a broken, or a wolverine. I feel that my story will have a perfect ending, but at the end of the story, I always get scarred. The heart is tired, so when you are tired, you will write stories that are not your own, and use a perfect ending to warm a tired heart. The sun came out, looking for a corner of no one to open the memory and take the wet stories out to dry. A roll of story, a scene of a scene, a period of time Marlboro Red, one by one, a laugh, a dark sadness. We are just a traveler, naked in this world, never thought too much, just praying to travel in this red dust. I don't expect how many people can remember us Marlboro Cigarettes. I don't expect how many inks can be left in this world. Those people, those things, only they remember, I have been here in this world, the rest. I am just a traveler, an ordinary one among all beings.
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