It turned out that he could not escape the disaster after all, the poignant beauty of the absurd tragedy that left the world in ruins. Is the flame on the sycamore branches the ashes left behind when obsession burns out?
After all, he was his calamity, and he responded to his obsession.
I picked up the dead leaves and looked up at the overlap of the old and new in the sky. Ignored by the autumn wind, the flowers gradually tilted from the branches, so desolate that the cold was timid.
The dream of spring is just like the innocent smile crushed by a pool of cold winter water. It is like the watery tenderness in your eyes and mine back then. I wonder if it is the shadow of the willows in the blooming flowers.
The lonely boat in the cold water broke his melancholy face. Once a year, he stood in the dream of memories and imagined the return of that person over and over again. Three thousand blue hairs turned white overnight.
He should be dead, he had already had such a premonition in his heart. But last night, he dreamed of his smiling eyes, which were so gentle that he was intoxicated. But in the end, they were separated, singing to each other across the river bank, and they couldn't reach each other.
The separation and hatred that had been silent for a long time emerged in thousands of ways, tying him down.