Library

I don't know where the wind comes from, and I don't know where it is blowing! A few words can always allow you to find some shadows and traces of those passing years! I wonder if you feel happy when you look at the dazzling array of books? I wonder if you have a desire and cherishment for the present and the unknown? This book is just an essay on life, poems and insights written by myself. Perhaps, since ancient times, literati have been more melancholy and melancholy than ordinary people, more compassionate and difficult to give, and there are always many words that have no place to put them in words. (Although I consider myself not a scholar yet) Perhaps, one day when we grow old or have children, we will look back and unknowingly we have become a landscape, and our lives have slowly become a beam of light. The ink marks are moistened for years, and the fragrance between the words accompanies good life.