風與她的長故事
風與她的長故事

我望住眼前的燈,然後明白過來,這是一條很遠很遠的路。 不是我嚇怕了自己,也無關甚麼這才剛開始,而是,我真的看到了很遠很遠的事。

Initial start of the diary: [Because it cannot replace an omniscient computer, I can only write everything when I am susceptible]

The first one, after many years. In recent years, I have really been obsessed with reading online articles, and I also like to criticize. In addition to laziness and lack of time, the more I get used to being a spectator, the less I dare to write it myself. Every sentence you write unleashes three sharp criticisms. The egg is coming, is it mean to others first, or mean to yourself first?

It was raining outside the window. Dinner time, supper night. The street was silent after the rain poured down. I haven't fallen asleep, but I'm sure the meal time is over, but this family doesn't know how to work and rest. The rain falls on the branches and leaves, and the orange lights are faint, showing a slight outline. But it's not good to burn meat and cook rice all night, dah, dah, irritating the stomach and abdomen.

A few hours later, after he has finished dealing with important matters at the police station, he will turn on the orange lamp on the stove, lower his eyes, and get the low stool. If the tail keel is not straightened, the pan bone is swayed to the left or the right is tilted, the fire is lit, the smoke ring blows out as a friend, the circle circles, and it rises to the end of the exhaust port.

On the other end, she yelled into the phone, "I'm cooking rice/When will you return/Come on the sidelines/A while ago called to bury your girlfriend out for dinner", I frowned, answer, answer, top, 11:52PM The numbers that look like pass by in front of you - straight to the depths of your mind, nostalgia is coming - so that the Fujianese will become fatter.


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