I once remembered that in my dream one day, there was a silent girl.
With her long black hair half tied up and wearing a complicated and delicate bracelet engraved with obscure and strange butterfly patterns, she stood quietly and obediently at the entrance of the bustling city. The crowds flowing around surged up and retreated like a tide. But it was as if there was a layer of blurry mist, and there was a hustle and bustle.
Raising his head slightly, the dark clouds in the sky suddenly shattered, and the sunlight penetrated his cat-like sensitive pupils. His eyes were cold and without any warmth.
Maybe she was just waiting quietly. Waiting for someone to smile at her. Unruly and clear, or gentle and gentle. There is something clean in the eyes, deep and shallow blue, shining like the sea.
Then all the bright colors became subtly bright and clear.
So she could lower her eyebrows and nod, turn around and leave, disappearing into the crowd.
The back is silent and solemn.