Those secrets of desolation in the tree hole

Standing alone in the darkness and gazing at it, the cold stars hang in the Milky Way. In the night, the dried trunks still perished the few branches. The cold wind blows like a bayonet. Black, white, white and black are in front of us. Being Stabbed But unconsciously, half faint, half drunk, half awake. I can’t tell whether it is a dream or a reality. I don’t know which side of the earth is this mysterious space. There is a strong feeling that the soul seems to penetrate the atmosphere and the sky, just to find a corner that can be docked. Unbridled illusion and indulgence. Everything is difficult to be divided and understood. Perhaps, it is doomed to pass by this time. Flowers bloom and fade, tides rise and fall, after all, they are just joys and sorrows. Cutting a wisp of love and burying it into a tree hole was the deepest secret ever buried. Those years, those people, that time, that teenager. Now, are you awake or drunk? There is no answer… Sad wind, lonely star, Ravens, residual sound. As always, barren.

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