Rain-switching in

The afternoon rain was like a curtain, ticking and continuous. In June, my heart is as cool as water. The indifferent wind swung the dense leaves, blowing off some busyness and beating the vague thoughts. An eternal temptation. Even though I was numb by pain, I never forget it. Only time can turn everything into a light stream, no longer surging, but it is dark and fragrant. It takes two years to put you down and one year to weaken you. Don’t regret knowing you, leave you is not love. If you don’t regret leaving you, dignity is more important than love. The text is born because of love, and the word is born because of love. I once wrote for you. Unconsciously, words lose spirituality, and then I know that you are no longer in my heart. As the keyboard goes by, all the love and hate turn into a wisp of light smoke, rising and dissipating between the lines. Whether you or I used to be. When I looked back, there was no trace. It was too late to say goodbye. People were not far away from each other. Someone said: no one can enter your heart? Because you didn’t let him down. You can’t walk into my heart, and it has nothing to do with him. I refused simply. You found yourself under the steps and made an appointment to see me again one year later. A year later the same person. It has nothing to do with you or him. We can talk very openly, but we don’t feel like falling in love. Finally, you poured my wine into your cup. You saw that I had no reaction, and your disappointed eyes began to drift away. You can’t feel any of my affection for you, and it has nothing to do with indifference. Who knows what kind of sunny sun there is on April? But you can’t melt my heart like ice, actually you have the same desire. If a woman is willing to be your lamb, it is a pity that you are not the wolf she wants. It’s not clear what do I need? But understand what you don’t want? Some people like rainy days, while others hate rainy days. The fragmentary mood fragments are combined into fragmentary words, and the misty rainy days are written with the life which seems clear or not. The dense rain is like a dense past, a string of incomplete stories. Everything is just accidental scenery dotted with the long road of life. Don’t like it or like it, all happen like this, it’s over. The ticking rain tells the feelings of June gracefully, January 6

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