She walked in the wet air after the rain, the haze of the distant sky and the rich green of the trees, it was the lushness and tranquility of the city. When the northern country was wrapped in silver, the city had begun to enter the breath of summer, and every inch of breath was the smell of missing. And she walked on the gentle long street like that, like walking in the depths of time, walking non-stop, through the traces of time.
Sometimes she is tempted by that kind of time, just a little bit of the warmth of the sun shining on her body, such warmth soaking into her heart, so comfortable that she wants to sleep in the sun, move out of the body that is close to decay and withering, dispel the haze in the sun, and walk in this city in a warm appearance.
It is the city she misses, the city she misses. There are the lights of the city when she is a short parting, and the warmth emitted by the cool street when she returns, always with a gentle look, opening her heart to warm her when she is tired and tired, so that she can let go of all kinds of fatigue and sleep peacefully in time.
When wanjia was lit, she was walking in the dim street, and Mo Wenwei's low and sad voice came from her ear. She wanted to miss someone at that moment, but she could never find the sustenance that she could miss, giving her a strong sense of affection and traces of the years. She was listening to Karen Mok when it was raining outside the window, and her voice always reminded her of those wet times, the long and faint waits, the lonely people she missed.
In the night of the gentle drizzle, facing the dim street lamp outside the window, the thoughts of memories are so far away, as far away as a lifetime. She likes people who have a gentle feeling, like a song of time, timeless and meaningful, because clear, always able to penetrate some sadness and reality. And she is also clumsy, not understanding that some words are only written to her own time, but she tries to find traces of interdependence in those thin leaks.
She had long shelved herself in the shadows, and the dust of the past, sealed in the traces of time, stood quietly. When she remembered it, her heart felt like it was raining. Cloudy, sunny, she was silent for a long time, only to hear breathing, silent in the years. Full, deep, sometimes want to run counter to time, the traces of life into the folds of time, quiet collection.
When I returned in the evening, I walked through the flowered courtyard, and the strong aroma of the strands came, like the smell I smelled in the countryside mountains when I was very young. She turned back in the darkness to look for a place for the flowers to bloom, but when she looked up, she inadvertently saw a delicate rose blooming just right. After thinking about it, I simply gave up, no longer clinging to which cluster of flowers bloomed just right, many things in the world are encountered by chance, too attached to it but lost that idleness.
Pull the delicate dress out of your closet, hide from the long, miserable winter, and walk around all day in the spring. Those stored time, in time, more and more deep, like these clothes and dresses that she stored, gorgeous purple, simple white, cool blue. She thought about it, guarding this wet and warm time, guarding the rose of memory, growing old in the years, living quietly.
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