A period of time, give me time

This season was not too close to me. When I was alone, what I wanted to say occasionally had the smell of Alienation. It came inexplicably and went away quietly, which was not as good as the aftertaste. — Wen: Looking at the sun outside, I know that I am a little greedy in love. I am a woman who is afraid of the cold. All the warm places are greedy, but I don’t like winter, the cold weather is too strong but I want to escape. The Just Right season is too short. When winter is getting closer and closer, looking at it through the window, the room is quiet and slightly cold, around the body, wrapped in cotton-padded clothes, looking at the eyes under the long hair scattered in the mirror, there is warm light reflecting, it is hurting yourself. The cluster of bright red along the road was still swaggering against the cold, and there were residual yellow curling on the dusty leaves. I would take a look at it every day when I passed by. How tenacious it was. No matter what kind of environment you are in, as long as you choose to leave, people will gradually forget your familiar face and name. This is the ruthlessness of time, and it will indifferent to one’s memory, no matter how prosperous your business is, what kind of language your memory will have, which makes me want to be the last stroke of your ink painting. Although it is very light, it leaves indelible marks. Some people will be like this, in a warm way and memory appear in life, in the softest place of heart, leave a warmth, maybe long, maybe short, maybe it’s just looking far away, accompanying me silently, maybe I don’t promise, but I don’t go far all the time. When the pure and rich implication becomes an attractive force, those clear, sad, implicit, wait-and-see eyes and souls can meet here, let the shadow turn around, turn back frequently, and then go back to the familiar place again. With the appearance of running water, it drips slowly and leaves slowly, stretching endlessly. The days are passing innocently, even without feeling the pain of passing, continuing with a kind of sweet and plain. And I am just like a plant that can’t make a sound. In the time falling all over the sky, I sit still and don’t want to speak.

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