A bouquet of flowers

Life is really very good. In the room enfolding sunny, with Richard clayderman playing piano "destiny", I sat silently. This is Beethoven's fifth symphony. The table, a bunch of blooming flowers, in the sun, send out a light faint scent, as if with the music asperses full whole room.
Last week to television to a entertainment, a into the hall to my studio director introduced a friend, said: "this is Mr Cheng, a clothing store boss. He early want to know you, but you had no opportunity to today, have love and take part in this activity, back to you to bring a gift-a bunch of blooming flowers." Say, filled the lover of Mr Hands holding a bunch of big flower, stood in front of me.
Before, in a magazine written an article, inadvertently talked about flowers. A man like flowers, it seems that some "alternative". Can say what the reason, be like. At home looking at big room, always feel to lack a point what, seems to be not angry. So I think if someone sent me a bunch of flowers should have much good, no matter what is his reason, even if be a? And is sufficient moved me life. I think that perhaps is filled saw Mr. I wrote that article, maybe is......
The desire for flowers, from its beauty and fragrance, and its fate determined opposition of the spirit. Whether in what kind of environment, as long as there is water, air, the sunshine, even if the flowering will very brief, even had time to let people carefully to appreciate is withered, but after all, is the blossom. The nature of the flower is so short, and the human youth season might it not be?
Took the flowers moment, I have a kind of touched. A never had the pleasure and satisfaction, with a thick friendship, poured all over your body. In many eyes looking at my hand holding flowers, hurried into the assembly room. "You are a boundless nets, easily I the trapped in nets, the more I do the deeper the confusion, the way the long walk the more distant......" Stage a singer is singing Jacky cheung's "love."
Back home, and I put the flowers in the vase, on the desk. The day after, and for a long time, I was in a fragrant four room, banging on the text a poem.