When I was in my hometown, I wrote about "Night":

The night is a moth in front of the camp, and the fire is turned into a fire.

The night is a leashed dog, and the plough is passed on to Qimo.

The night is a river with stars, shining and clear.

The night is the wind in the forest, and the ridge pierces the heart slope.

The night is the Yueyi Lake, sparkling and kneading the green dilath.

The night is a makeup maid, and she is a dream country.

But now I understand: every prosperous night is accompanied by pickled and unbearable shadows, and this world is so hurried. Under the orange light that bears the pain of separation alone, there is a trance bursting with desolation and loneliness. And in the blazing lights of thousands of homes, the figures moved frequently, and the laughter continued, which evoked the wanderer's haunting thoughts. These three points and one line of life are like a strange circle, which makes me stumble forward and backward, and fall into it. Don't say I'm a single dog, don't say that I go back to my residence alone for a walk, I'm just a wolf from the north.

"I Am the Emperor of Freedom" 17, the night of pickling is in the middle of the hand, please wait a moment,

Once the content is updated, please refresh the page again to get the latest updates!