On the prose

Recent seldom write what. One is not what time. (luckily nobody urged the draft under the tree, I this person has always been very lazy, before at the XX site, is prepared students scolded, make me or embarrassment.) Then some insights too real. So I can not sure rhyme words can fully assume the meaning. So I often write some scattered, it is called prose. Write that there is to see. Occasionally see tree many friends to write prose, oh, very good. Temporarily also was crazy Fault Tolerant Server.
I always thought, I didn't what qualifications to talk about traditional prose writing. But now I just young. Trance has not remember, once the class the teacher explained, the characteristics of those flash paper. Have to Baidu Search, then go to search for examples see. So, see Long Zhu you back. And once I detested the works of Zhou Zuoren. (because, at school, was the teacher when the ducks generally knocked the palm of the hand, additional recite the text.) Now back to have a look, also already from amazement to exclaim. As the present generation is for those who have friends. (in fact I do not know they are in a big way.) Prose is too long. Not the words long. Is the text of the long. The significant too long. The beautiful sentences, tend to be like don't rhyme poetry. But also cannot read want to describe what. It is virtual, some of it, too. Perhaps the characteristics of prose, that there is enough space theme, to give people a lot of false reason. But you and I both know, there is no central idea of the text, words, like a commander of the army. Is not a compilation, unqualified things. Not to mention, the form of chaxu flashbacks superposition of various technique. Used is too messy. The use of practices is often a lot of bedding. In distinct conception, or artistic conception is not significant now, can use. (personal opinions and preferences); such things like fruit, often after a meal to eat, would benefit more. There is some truth, or theorem. Perhaps, not the question, only you I seem to have questioned the real eleaf.
Some friends on the contrary, the central idea is very clear, very clear. (the whole is almost entirely a variety of arguments, each not same did not clear. Let me remember hours, when his teacher's) in this paper do not consciously be the main purpose, appropriate, also bluntly, some, is want to express something too much to write, to the title of the paper conflict. Perhaps many of my friends thought is relatively simple. Writing this stuff, you should think of the relatively simple. This attitude is often an excellent. (I also always does) only, often color too heavy, too much. There will be no contrast visual.
Some old-fashioned round writers. Maybe they have known for a long time writer, perhaps some popular magazine editor. And so on. (of course, I was only a young man) system in two rounds, manipulation theory, knowledge theory, we the young people of course is difficult to follow. The only thing I can give the argument, also had to from a reader about. Wen, is beautiful, smooth smooth away. Of course, your hands now take a pen, my hand up a pencil. Process from the pencil to pen, you want to deep experience. When you pick up the pen to abandon pencil, you want to have a quiet writers, even the master. But maybe you forgot, the pen can write. And only a theory to write what. Rather, pencil, you can write more can alter. You can sketch, more can draw, can do a ruler, more can stand up to do models. (oh, I almost forgot, the pen is an honor and a very high honor, even the early Nobel prize winner. Is also the same academic gift pen as the honor, only hope that you can reach that rare height.)
I have always been a very good speech, also like the speech room of people, think that just won't leave word after the handle to others US prepaid sim card . But the fact is often the contrary, speech down people, often only more impeccable attitude. Can not handle more. (perhaps from the beginning, we were some upside down is non)

Noil over the cold summer

The wind over the cold summer, corner, with her hands holding the gills, in the sun to tremble, Ma red trousers, take a rattan cane threads, like the shade plants as in the dark and defiant, a pair of white cloth shoes, she did not wear socks, ankle skin white and tender the newly unearthed, like white radish.
The sun along the wall flow down, a spot of Yao, she always not to move the pace of standing there, she wears her hair in bangs oblique, long, there are so few hair straight down to the mouth, red lips, dry, probably because of long time not drink the reason, she look at me, it seems a little timid, do not know because of long time no see, or other reasons, I see, she seems to want to say what, because she had been caught with the hand clothes, I to her too familiar, from childhood, to the year seventeen. In fact, as long as I can remember.
Just as, when I asked her to her, in her name.
"The author, you see what I have in my hand." I remember that we at the age of seventeen, the dry and healthy youth, she smiles looks are always so beautiful, "the sun, I knew you'd better." she took my hand postcards, in those years, I remember, at that time her most love thing is collecting postcards, she said one day, she would put all the postcards, a piece of mail, I asked her to send one, she just closed lightly a mouth to smile slightly, then she comb horsetail, she likes a bright forehead, she said like that. She feels very warm. Her big eyes, smile, just like the night sky twinkling, non-stop smiled to the stars, she likes cotton pants, I have always felt that she wore jeans look good, because that her two slender legs will outline a natural beauty, she also like shoes, I remember the adult ceremony that day, she was wearing high heels, because at that time the school rules to wear suits, her face was covered with a layer of foundation, is her face is white, she was a little awkward took me by the hand, she said, "the sun like this okay" in fact it time, she is very beautiful, is the life I have seen the most beautiful girl, but unfortunately, the dress, she just in front of me once, after several years, I never saw her again, perhaps her beauty, also once in front of other boys tried however, those stories are already settle a matter by leaving it unsettled.
Afternoon, the balcony will gather us several boys, the sun like a little worm like, slowly climbed up our clothes, then our foreheads, into our fortune, in those mottled track, we're like a bunch of against the wind sound lodging sunflowers, quiet smile, quiet cry, we are growing in the sun's child.