On this silent night, it rained. Wet, not only time, but also the sadness of the memory. Leaning in the cold, let the loneliness that breeds and spreads strike.
Memory, like a deep black hole, walks in, but can't get out. Passing by many people, after a lot of scenery, there are always some stubborn marks that are difficult to let go.
So, in what posture should I listen to the rain? The sound of the little bits and pieces tapping on the window ledge, like, dripped on the heart. What swayed were ripples of pain.
Empty vision, far away, only a few lights in the rain, clearly extinguished. The sky was pitch black, like a blank thought, not knowing where to go.
Time is getting older, and many feelings are gone. We can't hold on to the lost years, we can't have everything we thought we could have. Just gathered, scattered, near, far, crying, drunk.
Finally, always try to forget the pain that torments the soul. Some traces of memory, some imprints of the soul, will eventually disappear with the wind. And all of this is just a wisp of dust and smoke that is difficult to wave. Leaning alone in front of the window, listening to the rain keep falling, keep falling...
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