Hawthorn heart

My nostalgia is one away in face, a familiar face. Stay in my world for a long time, but now gone, out of reach. My nostalgia is already yellow with a photograph of the landscape has not changed, just the face is far, far, far away can not breathe, no thoughts, just remember, was not sick themselves. My nostalgia is a song, an old song, a familiar and we had to sing the old songs. The melody, then lyrics. We sang this song once, it will shy smile. Now listen to this song, humming a tune, will feel sad, who will themselves surrounded by the past, so that my recollection, quietly, like tears.
Those years have gone. But in life, we go back. We can only think of some, nostalgia. I have nostalgia for those who appear to be normal, and now long for the words, nostalgia is that when I do not care, lost treasure, after that thing. My nostalgia is that I did not know how many times a curse, and now they dream about in a dream place. The place, once there you have me, and hate the people we were. We then wished he could grow wings and fly Skynet goes to the outside world, anything to entertain our youth. When we left, we have the added hope to go back, that Xiangqilaijiu warm. We think there bit by bit, and my heart always be happy, feel happy, and want to return to the past.
A long absence, me and you. Flipping through the phone book over and over again, to see how many phones can play, would like to hear in the distance whether you like me, in the years that we shared nostalgia for those who smile when those happy months, whether the dust in my heart when no one in the lonely and often think of. In the watches of the night, opened his eyes, darkness, feeling around the silent, at this moment I really miss you, think I will appear in your dreams. Feel the fear, I fear our memories, for here, and later there will be no sequel.
Think we have vows, but now, you can remember that bit, that there are a few words in your heart. My nostalgia is that we all, happy, sad, keep tears ... ... and I hope, but in future we can together, memories of our past, talk about when we dream, to see if we have hate the place, we walk the road once passed through countless times, seen many times in the landscape. Perhaps the time we have changed, become mature, grow old. Do not know then, you will not they begin a poem that you like, but with a comical look at you, alone revel in their own voice. We will all see the world smile, sinking the young at heart, is dead.

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