Night is the spokesperson of black, mysterious and strange, sometimes silent and sometimes in full bloom. It is a lonely killer and the guide of loneliness lurking in the body. Night always gives people infinite reverie, covers all hazy beauty, and always gives people infinite space for reverie. I particularly appreciate the unbridled beauty of the night and the depth of black, but I long for the bright lights in the distance in the night to see if one of them shines for me, and whether there is a touch of light white in the dark world, but I dare not touch it. I think people who like the dark night are lonely and aloof like roses. Loneliness is a joke of longing, and the price is a series of deep or shallow wounds. This is a cruel and noble sentiment...
The midnight poltergeist tells the melancholy of a lonely soul...