One life and one dream. Throw away the occasional lies, ignore the depression that has nowhere to tell, and throw away the sadness that surges into your heart.
You, what's left?
Too many joys and sorrows surged into my heart. I opened my mouth, but my lips had nowhere to press it. In the end, it just turned into a sigh.
What does a lonely smile and a desolate kiss mean? What does it portend? Maybe it means too much.
Can those deep and shallow marks in my heart just be buried in my heart? Or give it to the bright moon in the sky?
At midnight, the moon shines under the shadow of the mottled trees. The incomplete part in my heart is getting bigger and bigger. Could it be that in the end there is only emptiness left?
Perhaps, peonies, zithers, moonlight, alluring beauty, there are some moods that are silent for each other, but can be revealed with just one look.
Perhaps, this is the case in the world. Don't believe it, but trust it. Unreal, but sincere.
Perhaps, you can only reveal your true feelings to strangers and express the remaining warmth in your heart.
Life is too tiring, life is too deep, and we all don't understand life.
In other words, life is like a dream, and dreams are like life. A life is just a dream.
I want to write a dream. For the person in the story, that is her or his life, isn't it?
An imaginary story set in the Qing Dynasty. A life of struggle in an ancient costume palace.
I don't know if this is cliché or not. I just want to write a simple story, a real life.