Chapter 27: The Other Side of "Guessing".

There is a mood, condensed between the eyebrows, I can't see the whiteness clearly, what kind of feelings are exuded, perhaps, you can pick up a bend of the bright moon, tuck it on your chest, feel the faint chic, so close to the elegance, a little longing, the loneliness under the moonlight, you can not guess, those monologues that you can't guess.

The world is like an aimless guess, endless thoughts and wanderings, rippling in the heart, floating layers of ripples, with a lot of complex feelings, slowly wandering in the space that cannot be relieved, like a scattered fallen leaf, helpless wandering in the world, not understanding how their fate will be arranged, maybe into the ground, maybe dissipated in the air, maybe, just maybe, everything can only be so casual, guessing is just their own futility, get nothing in return.

Sitting in front of the boring computer, looking through the window, looking at the dawn of dawn, the heart, a little intoxicated, was rendered by the deep brightness, the forehead was strodled obsessively, the breeze swept through every new stupidity, it felt like the endless colorful glow, lingering every inch of skin, from white to crimson, a little intoxicated, a little leisurely, a faint cloud, unveiling the deep infatuation, the moment when I wanted to embrace the distance, it was like retaining the moment of my own full arms.

Busy footsteps, bustling, are feeling the plot of material pursuit, maybe this year's late autumn day, has long been dry, but the soft wind is still mixed with a thick yearning for money, on the cheeks, on the tip of the nose, wanton rubbing, interspersed with helpless realism, maybe, don't have to guess, because you can't guess its ending, who said that autumn is the season of bleakness? This endless wait brings a long interpretation of people's illusion, the realism of the clear sky-----

Everyone likes to guess, to guess those unknown future to show off their wealth, sometimes helpless, sometimes hesitant, sometimes happy, sometimes happy, but everything is just guessing, when you don't get all the results, everyone just likes to guess, sometimes, people will guess with hope, and sometimes, people will guess with loss, no matter what, they just want to give themselves a confession to bear the results, so that they can have a good heart when they don't meet, at least they won't be addicted, and they don't need to be persistent.

However, there are too many things that backfire and are too real, and everyone is in exchange for failure when they are wandering, this kind of thing frustrates confidence, and what kind of helplessness does it get, so that they can't find themselves. All this may be just an excess, just an encounter, no matter what the outcome is, it is just a possession, and that's it.

Speculation and suspicion are an expression of confidence and hesitation, a kind of emotional emotion, and a haze of emotion.

Believe or doubt?

Is it to have or to lose?

Guessing is a kind of realm, but also a kind of helplessness, under the coercion and temptation of society, who doesn't want to guess but can not guess? Only guessing, can let themselves remember, and can only soothe their restless soul, is the world too realistic? Or is human affection too cold? Everyone is a dust, but behind this dust is how many unknown sorrows are sung?

Guess, the logic is parameter, curved expression??

Life is like this, everyone has his own helplessness and confusion, this is a kind of monologue, and more can only explain clear wishes!

Perhaps, guessing is a kind of release, but also a kind of accumulation, this metaphysical form, with what attitude should be elaborated?

What kind of brush and ink should be used to write realistically?