What are my dreams?

I

It's my dream.

There are too many voices, too many eyes, and things are too chaotic, it is better to imagine.

The raindrops are ticking and falling on the window and on the heart.

I put on my wings and shuttled, looking for my own habitat.

Where is the end?

Where can I park?

We may not have time to think.

We keep flying, flying over the world, flying through our hearts, flying over the majestic mountains, and finally crossing the river, just for that petal.

I listened to the lake and the rain.

The breeze was gentle, and I could smell the scent of flowers.

It's the petals in the palm of my hand.

No, maybe not?

So where does it come from?

What do you think?

What does the flower in your hand taste like?

Is it still fragrant? Or is it indifferent?

The rain wets it, but it can never penetrate it.

It trembled gently, but it didn't shrink. It stands proudly,

Have your own suit.

It rests in my hand, insignificant, but the only color in my eyes.

It's such a tiny existence, but it's the greatest force in my world.

Don't throw it away, either me or you......

Chapter 70 of "Liu's Essays" The flower in your hand is being hit in your hand, please wait a moment,

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