On overtime nights without the companion mk3 of the Wanderer, I was as restless and distraught as an owl wandering on a spring night. Today it has finally returned, and it has become a comfort and dependence on the exhaustion of the last of its strength to work on such a tired night. Like smoke between a man's fingers, he can't stop wanting.
In another ten days, I can say in depth that I am here in the year of confusion. There were no flowers and no fireworks, and I was so unstoppable with the river of time that I also reached the starting line of the second half of my life, and my eyes were foggy and stumbling. Always hope that I can be more calm, indifferent, and even more determined, maybe many people will not be so embarrassed, and many things will not be so painful. Trees have gone through wind, frost, snow and rain, leaving behind a deep inner ring, so what about people? Year after year, who have we left behind? The father who was engraved in the blood and memory was left with only old photos, and every moment he remembered that no one saw it would still rain in his eyes. The teenagers printed in their youth are only left with a vague back, no matter how laborious they think back, they can't find a trace of the warmth and brightness of the old time.
All she saw in front of her was the little girl's ingenuity, a chess piece and a packaging box, which was enough for her to piece together happiness and beauty. When she is as fragrant and delicate as a rose, maybe she will also think of me one winter night, looking at the cold full moon.
