untitled

I am always reminded of William Butler Yeats' poem, "When You Are Old".
Some love last, but some became memories that are either being cherished or tucked away safely.
We need no more scars, but still we get more.
We never learn how to love each other.

Face the music. Dance with grace that masks your sorrow.
Own the reminiscence of moments on stage for it is valued.

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

万诚一语惊醒梦中人。健文，如果你有在看此文的话，我可以回答你那天的问题，my answer will be 'no'.第一次被人家问这样的问题，很奇怪。

上星期日晨跑摄。我一直很喜欢这样的小白花，它生长成花树。
听说它是被种在墓园的树，所以不吉利。
我想，以后种一棵。爱一个东西，是不会去计较的。
或许因为它肃穆、端庄、大方，才有那个本事，去点缀墓园这么沉重的地方。