There is nothing in the night, and what is there is probably made up by me.
I like to use all scenery to describe my mood, and I like to use philosophical sentences to summarize my thoughts.
What I was thinking about this night was not lying in bed and looking out the window. I was walking amidst the hustle and bustle of city lights. With my eyes slightly lowered, an erratic thought broke into my mind like a streetlight obscured by leaves on the roadside suddenly dazzled my eyes. Well, I miss her again.
I couldn't explain her mood clearly, but I wrote down all these happenings in my diary and hid it like a tissue in my pocket. When I washed it and dried it before wearing it, a subtle sour emotion filled my heart, and I knew I still liked her very much.
I wrote and wrote, not knowing what to write. It was probably a sour story, probably related to her.
Write about my sadness, my happiness, the subtleties in my heart, and my inspiration at night. The logic is probably confusing, and everyone just thinks it is a lot of short stories.
There is a chat between me and her, and there are also my own struggles. There may be long descriptions like melancholy, there may be out-of-the-box thinking, or it may be an observation of her paintings. If everyone likes it, that's great. If you don't like it, don't look at it. Don't force it. I just provide myself with a tree hole.
Intention: Miss you silently