Wen 丨 Ink Juke
Love does not know where it is, love is missing. Destined from the start, it was a sad story. Life, for you and me, is nothing more than that.
Like the flowers in the corner of the wall, it can't bloom for a season of winter. I grabbed a glass of yellow wine in my left hand and drank it on my neck, oh, a little sour. Yes, yes, we are old and can no longer bounce around and party. The fatigue of strain is no longer something that can be recovered with a glass of functional wine. Well, just accept it!
Helpless, it is already a book that should be read now. It is very thick and heavy, and the degree of this sentence is a bit high. No longer the same as before, every time I drank shakily, and then went to find the familiar girl...
At first, I didn't understand. In the world of life, aren't all stories written? Spend a little thought, spend a few cigarettes and you can get it done. But just when you went to buy cigarettes again, you found that the hostess was gone. You try to find the moon, and you find an empty space.
It's over, you say to yourself. The script that was overturned could not be retrieved before the makeup. You become quiet, quietly opening her previous share in the night. It's a short story you don't like, but it's a long-standing favorite.
I always think that reading this kind of article is hopeless. What "The Breeze Can't Reach You" and "If You're Still There", anyway, at the end you repeat the single "Train to Sunset", this is the expression.
Because of drinking, you think of the night again, and you think of the night that you felt wonderful because you drank too much. Under the loose pants, I leaned over and found the memo, excerpted below:
Late at night, I didn't want to sleep, remembering the scene I had just bought a cigarette: the lady of the grocery store was very beautiful, and I stared at her feet, very white. The lady boss stood up, and I saw the chest four by two and asked me what kind of smoke I had. I gasped, Red Wolf. She said: "Soft, hard? My head lowered, "Soft, hard!" ”
Three months later, you rode Xiaolan first and then touched Xiaohuang. On the bike, you struggle, looking for her shadow... It was getting quieter and quieter, and there was no need for communication on this street. So, in the end, only the poems remain, which are the shortest words.
Note: The photographer says that green travel is another option. Little blue and little yellow, I like it both. Special thanks for this issue of photography: Xu Jianxun
Brother Toyota said: You look so lonely, it's so beautiful
OFO said that what a pack of cigarettes can solve is not a big deal
There are only two rounds left in love, see if you can catch up