The blue sky, pinning countless dreams, white fantasies, fluttering in the air, for many years, until the smoke disappears, dreams are still dreams, that young dream, has long been hidden in the heart, sealed in the heart, can not bear to open the seal.

When the passion burns out, how much motivation do people have to continue to go down, the winter comes, people are like candles in the wind, faintly flickering and extinguished, not burned out of life but have been extinguished.

When the blue sky is no longer blue, and the white clouds are no longer floating, perhaps it will be the day of the great limit, and everything will be gone, but it will not come back.

Sad and endless, the dreamy sky will never be seen in the blood-colored eyes. There are still remnants of the wounds left by the fingers, whenever the night rain is dusk, there will always be a faint pain, this is the illness left by my yearning for the blue sky, someone asked me, do you regret it?

I don't think about it, these are the traces of time, they prove my year, the year when I failed but I never regretted it.

The sky is still blue, the white clouds are fluttering, the people are old, and the heart is not old.

"When It's Dark" Sky is being hit by hand, please wait a moment,

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