When I was in college, every time I flew from one city to another, I always had infinite expectations in my heart.

I was looking forward to the end of some habit, the beginning of a life, and wondered how many messages and missed calls would come out of worry and concern when the plane landed and stopped, when I pressed the familiar power button again. The answer is always disappointing to me.

At 30,000 feet in the air, I remembered the beautiful romantic drama "Landing, Please Turn on Your Phone". I've seen it 3 times, and I always want to find a similar shadow in it, but I always know in frustration that the person waiting for me to land on the ground and open the phone is still stuck in the foggy future...

Expectation is a graceful arc, thrown to the ideal sky, the heart is empty, empty, abruptly from the memory of a word, called "heart without distraction".

I wonder if there is too much in my heart? I do not know. Looking at the bright moon, ...... for a long time At this moment, the mind has turned into a messy weed, and it has begun to grow wildly in the deeper depths of the mind.

As if everything was not far away, and as if everything was far away.... Helplessly watching with cold eyes, I was like a child, watching the paper airplane I folded take off, fall, and fall beside me, and then tirelessly let it fly again in the wind, but it could not fly at an altitude of 30,000 feet....

The ups and downs of life are uncertain, the wandering thoughts are dusty, and in a trance, I feel that the energy that is about to erupt rises from the bottom of my heart, and there are all kinds of expectations in my heart in the confusion, and in an instant, a power is like a cry through the darkness.

Do I still choose to wait from tomorrow?

Waiting for my plane to take off from my dreams?

Waiting for a ray of sunshine to pierce through the darkness of dreams?

What about waiting for someone who will tell me to land and turn on my phone?

Looking at the joys and sorrows of the sky, alone in a daze. I watched the plane blissfully in another person's sky in my own sky, and I knew that the moment the plane crossed the sky was worth the rest of my life.

In the real society, I gradually forgot the obsession I once had, but buried the longing for it in the deepest part of my memory, because it was the most beautiful pure land in the dirty world.

Until one day, the plane became a lonely journey, and I knew that the plane had landed, but I didn't have to care...

Parallel lines are always parallels, and even the occasional intersection is just a dream.

The plane, always and still, never stays again, can the hope of flying in the wind hear my call?

Suddenly, I miss some people and things, desperately thinking about their faces, their smiles, and the stories with them... But those silhouettes that were once so familiar, those smiles that were once so intoxicating, have been relentlessly stretched by time for a long time, deformed, and then I can't recognize it.

I knew I could never go back, I had lost so many things, like a child who couldn't remember, forgot the way, even forgot myself...

I'm scared of the night, the silent and blurry night. So I tried my best to get closer to the downtown area, and when I got closer, my heart was gone, and I went away....

I'm not a kid who likes to be noisy, but because I'm afraid of being lonely, I've learned to bury myself in the glamour. I will always be inexplicably lonely, seeing rain or stars. Under the foreign sky I saw something that was not under the sky of my homeland, but those ethereal distances brought me into the desert. No one cares about my story, because we're all passers-by.

I am grateful for my pale words with feelings, and I feel the temperature over and over again until I burst into tears. I don't understand why I'm always hurt by some indifferent and sad words, but I'm obsessed with this way of life. Laughing and crying, maybe you can only do it when you reach a certain level!

I have always believed that a person who really understands words is not necessarily a writer and writer, but he must be a person who understands life feelings, a person who understands loneliness and sadness... Just like me.

I wanted to escape, and I fled far, far away, and then there was a vast expanse of flowers like the sea, and I would die in the middle of the sea of flowers.

If I could, I would like to be a wanderer, with a simple bag that looks a little pale under the ravages of wind and frost, full of loneliness and sorrow, and then circulating, to the ends of the world, to the cape...

If I could, I would choose to look forward quietly and leave calmly;

If I could, I would choose the silence of the desert, and then sink decisively.

But why, there is no if, but I am still so looking forward to it, so lonely, so decisive, so quiet, so sinking? What's wrong with the world? Or have I been wrong all along?

Thinking too much, tired.

I have seen many sad people, but no one can understand the smell of sad blood in their bones, it turns out that I am the same as everyone else, and everyone is the same as me.

Time is too narrow, my fingers are too wide, so I can't escape the prison of time. The moment time left traces on me, I suddenly understood that I could never get rid of those traces, like, a clock?

Yes, it's like clockwork on a clock, go, it's fine.

The fog outside the window is very thick, blurring the scenery, blurring the sight, blurring the weak heart, and even more blurring yourself...

The loneliness and sadness scattered in my youth made me lonely in the bustling city...

The dark night quietly descends after the rain stops, such a place, the hustle and bustle is not far away, and the tranquility is around.

I stood just a stone's throw away and stared at the city lights, my eyes there, but my heart there.

At this time, my heart is extremely quiet, the crowd has long since dispersed, but I am still silent in the dark corner, I have to choose to be silently lost at this moment, I will not find any way to free myself, I just want to let my heart be silent in this corner of the night, with words as companions, and grief in parallel.

When I landed, I turned on my phone...

But it has nothing to do with love, and it has nothing to do with love!

I don't know who the wind is blowing for tonight, and the leaves are flying with it.

Who was it that I confided in my dreams,

Who has listened in my dreams?

The wind records some unknown lovesickness, and it is this night wind that quietly leaves behind the flickering and beating residual lights, so that the last helpless sigh turns into a light smoke and melts into the quiet air.

I wondered, when, the dream of the plane will cloud my damp face and take away my faint sadness?

People, sensual people,

is holding the right hand with the left hand, unable to pull the future, and unable to pull the past.

The heart is divided into two chambers.

Are you sure that the left atrium will understand the melancholy of the right atrium?

Drunk looking at the red dust, the clouds are fragmented,

Lying on the long road, a long ......