I and

I am looking for your breath along the way, but I forget that you are already gone. Beating horses across the grassland, never picking a petal, but stealing your fragrance all the way. I want to use the time of a song to forget everything, but forget my seven-second memory without fish. It is said that memory hurts people, but what hurts people most is not memory, but time. Hearing the voice of the man with curly hair hiding full of stories, I would always reveal all my emotions hidden behind me at a loss. It is a pity that he sings that who has betrayed himself, who has been exiled by the world, who can’t help himself, who has been precarious, and who is willing to face the mirror and say that I can, to the people I met again, you are here too. But I am not brave enough, I am afraid that I will run away when I see you. He sang and I tried again and again you hid again and again, and there was a premonition that it was too difficult to recover. Whether all the tolerance without saying anything is considered to be strong and indifferent. Should all the cheated people reflect that they are too stupid and believe too much. I once gave you the trust of the world, but in exchange for the painful deception. Sometimes listening to songs is not melody, but voice; Listening to songs is not beat, but lyrics. It is really close to sadness, and it is also close to loss of heart and sadness. The trust that was once understandable to the world disappeared in the streets washed by the rain along with the continuous rain all night. If life is just like first sight, if we pass by like parallel lines, how good it would be. We always quarrel with people we love and talk to strangers. Everyone laughs at the fool of the world, but doesn’t know the unknown pain in the bottom of his heart and doesn’t want to be endured by another person he cares about. The missed years have blossomed into colorful purple flowers in the north desert, which has deserted the spring and summer of reincarnation. In this flourishing age, we are guarding loneliness and hurting beyond recognition. A friend who has a good relationship told me that you are a stubborn person who has been insisting on one thing. He said that thanks to you, you are a woman full of sense of justice, or you will be full of dark factors in this sad world. In fact, I am lucky that someone will take my brightness into my eyes and feel my grievances and sufferings; I am lucky that someone will be the same as me, even if the road ahead is rough, I will keep moving forward. Tossing and turning in other people’s years to harvest other people’s touch, watching those years of prosperity in the reluctant curtain call out a flower, bright all the darkness around. How lucky I am to have a fragrant smile in this green season. I am not afraid of the autumn rain that has not yet fallen. I open my hands and embrace the future I want with all my youth. Walking on the road of the future with courage, strength and smile. I don’t like crying. The existence of tears is just to prove that sadness is not an illusion. But only when you get hurt in person can you learn to be smart. GARVEN’s words are spoken by people, and fart is also spoken by people. Speaking is the same as fart, which is just a breath. Although the words are very rough, they are exactly the same. Don’t people live just for one breath? I stick to my belief and bottom line, arm myself with the indifference of isolating the world and reach tomorrow. What pervades the whole open world is the great sadness of the low violin. Just like a woman crying, full of black and white. Then there is the infinite expansion of silence. Annie said that when a woman was looking at the sky, she didn’t want to look for anything. She’s just lonely. But with so much loneliness, how many people can bear it? In this loneliness, we walked slowly to a place marked by God. This city, which develops forward at the speed of light, loses itself in endless desires with rotating material desires and vigorous vitality. In those sad piano music or sorrowful cello, the sadness and sadness are rendered and enlarged until the whole world is filled, and then I suddenly find myself in a stirring spirit, see yourself who has not been assimilated by the world. If we are all children, we can stay in the same place of time, sit together and listen to those stories that never grow old while slowly looking forward. I pray that on a beautiful street corner, I will meet the future and then myself. Like (prose editor: drops of ink become wounds) the snow in spring

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