Autumn days are surprisingly high, autumn will unconsciously look up, sometimes look at chaos, sometimes look clear, sometimes feel fear, sometimes feel cute. Saying that it is vast, the words are too small and childish, and the long wind comes and goes for thousands of miles, and it is like a soft sigh in front of it. "The world is illusory into the pockets of Luo Mian, and I see that the flood is eternal" or the ancients are powerful, which is this feeling. At this time, I feel like a small microorganism. The joys and sorrows of this world, the love and hatred, the blooming and withering are all ethereal winds, blowing through without a trace.
I remember when I was a child, looking at the sky, the sky was higher, looking at all kinds of clouds, there were quiet white rabbits, there were running horses, there were happy children, there were fairies with fluttering clothes, and there were deep blue lakes. It must also be a bustling world. They also dream, the fish 🐠 in the sky swim around, the streets are bustling, the yellow hair is hanging down, and the traffic is like weaving. I looked at it on the ground, scared and curious, dizzy.
In the blink of an eye, I'm old and never dream those magical dreams again.
