When the white dream shakes violently on the edge of waking up, are our souls ready to fly? Yes, there is a kind of fate called "flowing clouds and flowing water", and there is a kind of separation called "deja vu".
I know that sometimes the wandering of the soul is free and joyful. When the real fantasy disappears on the horizon, when the fluttering mist escapes above the head, when the white migratory birds migrate away, when the singing wings rise in the sky... Your pupils are shining like stars, and your smiles are slowly blooming like flames, giving my world a perfect and dense memory. Fuzzy, profound, but soul-stirring...