Forum pracy nad projektem wskrzeszenia The Forge

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I am here, the weather was sunny


There was a very hard time too, feel that they have no way out, like being thrown in the deep wilderness, the cry every day, not working, should not be called in to. That period of time I believe in very religious, often take a long drive to go the temple to worship. Every time I went to the door of the temple have been closed. Keep the temple see my poor uncle, told me the same on the outside and bowed, and asked me to come earlier next time. However, every time I miss time. A long time, I knelt there, until the tears dried. The most difficult time I go to sleep before writing a letter to the Lord Buddha, hope that he will be in my sleep when I'm away, let me in the afterlife, when turned into a tree, the whole storm, but not sad. However,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], I finally opened his eyes, bright and sunny outside, flowers. I spent a long time before thinking of that letter before I sleep. I have not been away, I'm still alive. Always want a twist of fate like Baiduan, like celery, issued crisp cracked beneath his feet, I do welcome the change in preparation. However, as the same time, such as water, the fate of a slow healing wounds, always wake up only to find it has changed appearance. I looked at the last change, a little bit forgotten the pain of the first, with those who hit left me indifferent, although still love to laugh out loud, love nerve Great article, love panic. I stood up high, next to accompanied by green trees, reaching to capture the shadow of the wind, feel the wind through the fingers, traces, close and distant. Although they are still not happy in one afternoon, walking in crowds on the streets would suddenly stop pace, loud breathing the fresh air, the lungs in order to replace the backlog of grief. But I know that this is different as before. I understand that today's pain to the next year today, you will not remember. Sadness is installed in the leakage of the sand pocket, may go slow, but will eventually fall in our way through, no one will know into the dust. I am no longer a child crying at grief. One day, I sat in the library reading. I am next to the rows and rows of painted antique bookcases, books neatly lined above. Some students across it. Suddenly, there seems to have heard the distant sound of firecrackers, the sound gradually closer, and I know that this is a sound of high heels female students. She took a book from the shelves at the end of the way, there can not tell the stable face. Behind me covered with large windows on the sill of a golden sun. I suddenly laughed. I know, I'm here, the weather was clear.