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It's not the person who leaves you that makes you lonely, but the world after she leaves.

Maybe you can melt a piece of ice, but you can't warm the entire North Pole, because the world is not yours, and it's not as beautiful as you think. A merciless turn is the greatest criticism of a paragraph.

I can't come up with a very noble tone, and I don't have a very silent tone. It's just that, facing the road ahead aimlessly.

Looking at a dead branch is a memory, the winter soil under your feet is a burial, and a tree is a coffin. Where it came from, it must go back there. It is not a belonging, but a matter of course. When I am dormant, I have to be there to close my eyes, make memories as a pillow, take tears as my seat, put on the past time, and fall asleep peacefully.

I was looking forward to a snow, a goose feather snow, covering the way I was going, I walked without looking back, and there was only a daze behind me. The wind is blowing, the ends of my hair and face are blowing, my dry skin hurts like it's burning, walking without a person around is my own space, and loneliness is everything. It's time for another year to change, and the situation three years ago has come again. However, there are still people on the same side, but this time there is no more fetters. Your shadow shuttles through the busy traffic on the street corner, time and time again, my eyes blurred in a trance. When you look back suddenly, you disappear into the snow at night. Only I was still in a daze, blank, it was heavy snow, and it was also my eyes.

I was thinking about how easy it is to meet, just seeing it, there is no difficulty or obstacle, but the distance is still very far, the more I want to get closer, the more counterproductive it is. I need to settle, but how long will it take? Until you leave or do I turn around first? The happiness that is not easy to come by, it's so far away. I watched in silence, and found that I was just an outsider, the ones I liked and cared about, I never got close to. The sun is gone, I stand blankly, smoking or having a hangover, I can't tell, in short, what I want to do makes people feel that I don't care, and I'm cool. But in response, only the moonlight is left to shine coldly. At midnight, your smile is on the side, it is the moonlight, and it is also a reflection.

In the end, I didn't say anything before we parted. I don't know why, and this is the true portrayal of you and the cowardly me. I was speechless after the repeated bombing, and I really couldn't say anything to you. I couldn't pick it up because my heart was broken. I just lay on the debris and shed tears silently. One drop is enough, and the extra is considered humble and I dare not speak. I see you across the screen. Thinking about the past, you were always so bright, so dazzling, like the sun that illuminated my shadow with nowhere to hide. Do I regret it now? Yes and no. After all, I'm just a shadow that I think I can get close to. I can see it but I can't touch it, so I don't deserve pity. Maybe you have no shortage of people to accompany you, maybe you have never seen a lonely face, in the cold winter, it is flowers and frost.

Inadvertent words and actions, whether it really doesn't matter or have some meaning, I'm a fool and can't understand. Just know not to disturb when it is time to go, and do not stay when it is time to go. You are the forbidden one that I no longer dare to touch. Like facing a snowy mountain, there is only silence and heavy snow in the sky. I also thought about it, if you were by my side, if I was still on the way to find you, would everything change? After thinking about it, the ending is still like this. It doesn't hurt or itches for you, and it's very good for me. No sore throat, no expectation. I am a migratory bird wandering in the snow-capped mountains. I can only watch you while flying. When I fall, I can only return to my empty nest, stick my head out, and recall your hazy face. I really want to fly like this all the time, flying tirelessly, it is a dream, and it is also a tingling.

Will I still be there before your dawn? Will you still hold an umbrella when the drizzle falls? Looking at you, looking at you, is history, but also drama...