A book by Goethe. I have not read it, but I might be.
Half a month passed. ED seems so quiet and silent, as if the time paused. Absurdly.
Life goes on. 752 pages of an Oxford dictionary, however, it seems no way that a suitable word saying about life to be found. Therefore, everyone chatters, everyone stops talking.
Hovering. For over a year passed, as the moment I suddenly see the answer, and all the pictures flash back. Since then, silence remains, and everything is as clear as a crystal, nothing shall be done. It doesn't matter anymore, either to save or to hurt more. I guess it's what they called as foreordination, in a situation like this. Let all the silence remains, let 'em all burn to ashes, let time flushes all to the end, endlessly.
Young, and sorrow. 年少，与烦恼。
“给亲爱的你，这只字片语，再多的情绪，也无法表明。”
Perhaps, regrettably, I no longer could write you beautiful verse, to irrigate the secret garden. And that will be the most cruel and ruthless thing I ever did - to witness the dying of blossom.
Me,
October 2, 2012.
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