Of solitary Museum Night confusion

Pull down the curtain and put the light in the room. The little freedom was dyed with pale light, climbing on the light smoke. The faithful chair kept a foot of loneliness patiently before being put on the table in silence. Outside the house, autumn cast endless wind and rain in the night, hurriedly suppressing the warm memories. Those voices which were once grinding in the ears were wet with wings, and I didn’t know where the black trap fell. Qingdeng has a passion, but it is speechless after all. And what kind of language can I hold in the locked book box? I. About shadow I look at the shadow, but the shadow looks at the past. It still stayed up quietly with me, never saying how tired I was. It tolerates all my ignorance and cowardice, neither being depressed in coldness nor being mad over prosperity. I can only judge it without thinking; Otherwise, what will it think every day? So I asked: Do you know me? It unexpectedly asked: Do you know me? I asked again: if you are ignorant, why do you benefit me? It also asked: If you are ignorant, why do you benefit me? I tried again: Since you have followed me for many years, do you know how to redeem my past? It also explores: Since you have followed me for many years, do you know how to redeem my past? I can’t help sighing: you can only learn the tongue, don’t understand my heart, can’t communicate, why don’t you go. It also sighed: you can only learn the tongue, do not understand my heart, can not communicate, it is better to go. Lights flash. When I asked each other, I was suddenly confused: I didn’t know whether it was my shadow or I am. If I were really its shadow, how could I have done my part of a shadow. 2. Arrogant books always believe that as long as no one reads the books, they must be asleep. What they do is cups, which contain beverages with various flavors for people to taste slowly. They know that ordinary people must be separated from consideration, so they are very lofty, never eager to show themselves, and always wait for people’s worship proudly. Maybe it was because of too much mood, and the silent posture of the book was very peaceful, just like this lonely night, which was free from the scorching cold. My joy and sorrow are the returning birds who are afraid of the cold, and I just want to peck the fragrance on the pages in the warm light of the green lamp. But the night was very indifferent, and the book was very arrogant. I was always confronted on the desolate shore with an imaginary river full of reefs. There is no retreat, I have to swim across the river. Look, the night is killing my time silently behind me. Night blurred. A group of words passed by, and whispers came out vaguely: if they want to cross the river, each word must carry a thought and a hint of mood. I twisted my limbs into horizontal and vertical, and mixed them into the words. I don’t know whether my confusion is thought or mood. The probe light on the river was just swept away in a very formal way and did not see me. It was not until all the words passed by lightly that I realized that what this river could cross was only words. The text is finally in the book. But I went to see it by accident only to relieve loneliness. After all, what I bear is my fate. Fate will not wait for me in the book until all the time is killed. I thought I would be received gently by the book when I was mixed into words. Proviso cold unchanged. The words in the book are as hard as ants, making thoughts and feelings into sweet or bitter slurry tirelessly. Only I am still holding my own confusion and confusion, at a loss. When I escaped from the book, I just thought about it: if people write stories on paper is a book, then life writes stories in my heart, will I also become a book? 3. Silent song that song has been hanging on the wall for a long time. The walls have been deserted, exposing the remains of old dreams. The song climbed on a rusty string, which was tangled by dust and tired. The loose autumn rain made me suddenly remember this slow song. Gently stroking the dust, the familiar Pentas are still arranged with beautiful curves. But the silence of the song seemed to have sadness, and a kind of vicissitudes of life struck my heart: life only met at the beginning, and the frost flowers had been dyed after years. A kind of nostalgia appeared shyly in front of the song. The warmth of that year still existed, but the surprise of that year was no longer there. Gongshang corner is full of feather, from east to west, from north to north. After years of wandering, the song has been infected with me with cold wind. Now I am closing the lonely Pavilion, and I am silent, singing sadly. I lifted up the song lightly and wanted to say thank you, but I was hoarded by the night. The years of dependence and warmth can continue, but the songs are no longer exquisite, and it is difficult for me to return Zhu Yan. The song is really old, trembling slightly, like the rustling autumn water outside the window, thinking quietly. I can only blame that I didn’t hold it well. A Note fell from the song and splashed wet for a long night. In the dim world, the past reappeared, a silhouette, a song, a flower, an inch of clouds. At that time, was it me singing? Was it a song singing me?

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