Light time washes light life. I wander in a strange city, chasing snowflakes flying in the sky. Like the bent osmanthus tree.
In the morning, I was still dreaming. I thought there were lovely snowflakes floating outside. I didn't want to get up so early and feel the cold of the city. When I got up in the dark, I found that although the sky was still gray, it was not very cold. There was no thick ice on the road, only scattered fragments.
Cynically walking in the street, several times to the weak station, but looking back again and again. I don't know why I stay here. There are no people or things I want here, but I am reluctant to leave.
It doesn't make much sense to continue to bear it. Last night, I watched thousands of lights, felt the happiness of others and felt my loneliness. In this small and medium-sized city, I can only stop in other people's world alone and watch my shadow on the smooth ground. Until tears unknowingly fell on his face, he left silently.
I urgently came to the virtual world of the network, wrote some sentences full of viruses, listened to those singing sad songs of others, and recalled the good happiness. A sad song surrounds me physically and mentally tired. When I stand at the intersection, I will be at a loss. The busy streets are covered with snow and fallen leaves.
In a few days, in a few years, it may be better. Put your and my photos in a box. That's our only involvement. Now I think of you. You have a phone he hasn't contacted for a long time and forgot to store it there.
When it snows, even a person will have happy ripples in his heart. When the snow stops, the laughter around me can't dye my loneliness, but only a blank and melancholy face.
One night a few days ago, I had a dream about heavy snow. I came to a snowy place alone. There were houses everywhere, but I couldn't see a pedestrian on the road. There are only snowflakes in the air. Snowflakes beat my face, so cool, so moist, so kind.
When I woke up, it was a dark night outside the window. I recalled that in a year, no matter what season, I had to dream about snowflakes, even if there was a school of birds and flowers outside the window. It seems that the world around me is destined to be a cool, sad, romantic and cold world.
My heart moved and I was eager to write a line on white paper. I stretched out my hand to turn on the light at the head of the bed and didn't turn it on. It must have been out of power at night; I turned on my mobile phone, grabbed a pen with its weak light, wrote the words that best expressed my thoughts and feelings on a piece of typing paper, and then went back to bed to continue my dream.
It's not a dream, it's the real world, even if the snowflakes don't fly anymore.