Year after year, time disappears in the boiling water vapor, and the loneliness of mumbling is still like Qu Di's voice. Looking back, I find that what has passed is youth, and the rest is memory.

In this bustling and deserted city, under the ambiguous lights, people will always inadvertently think of the pictures they didn't care about on the streets they are very familiar with. Some people, some things, are reluctant to leave their minds. At this moment, perhaps, we need a beautiful life to complete our illusory and naive beliefs. But what kind of aestheticism is this, which allows us to expand into a kind of aestheticism that we yearn for and expect in so many poetic and dreamlike fantasies.

Most of the stories of teenagers are blank as paper, while most of mine are blind. Black and white life, only water can dialysis the bitterness in brain cells. This helplessness is like there is only one Beethoven and only one moonlight song in the world. These days of escape always leave a lot of heavy worries, so let's taste it alone.

And what is aestheticism? I don't know, all I remember is that she is a ray of sunshine.

I like to see some quiet and poetic pictures, which always remind me of Jiangnan or sunflower in full bloom in my golden childhood, but I am always very small, and I have lost my way in the flower tray more than once, and I can't find my way back. The flowers of childhood withered in the long screams, and then became the old age of teenagers.

In an instant, a flower bloomed in a previous life. When I walk through the river that passes through the city again, the still dirty river seems to whisper something in someone's ear. A cigarette burns, a cigarette goes out, and a smile has been given to me for many years.

I can't forget the tears in those deep and quiet eyes. Too many times, she always whispers a lot in her ear, and sometimes she will keep silent and say nothing, so she has been here for a long time. Only when she wants to part ways one day, does she find that she has long been accustomed to each other's existence, just like eating, sleeping and reading.

There is always a lot to look back on in life, but we always have to wait until the end of the song to understand the lost treasure, the blank left, and so on, but only one person's heart has been swinging for many years, and until now, it is still empty.

A few years ago, I walked on this street more than once. After several years, I still walked under the window in front of the village in this urban complex. I always avoid that street carefully. Many times I used to write a short poem on paper, and then put it in front of the window, quietly watching the vague traces of pencils disappear, just like my faded youth and childhood behind me.

After endless time, many former friends appear again. I always think of those past events, but some people never appear again. Too many times, I feel so tired that I don't want to talk to anyone. When a person can't sleep in the middle of the night, he always feels old. Maybe we are all old! No matter how many memories, they are just silent mourning for the past.

I have always been so clear and rational in cognition, but cognition is one thing, and letting go or letting go is another. Now I can't remember what she wanted to say for the last time. I can't remember too many words she recited. The only thing I remember is the appearance of a complete teenager and the deep sadness and a trace of shallow pain in his eyes.

Every morning, the story of sitting in a dream, in a deserted city, under the orange sky illuminated by orange lights, begins to talk to itself. The surrounding air is like a sealed glass bottle, sealing the sleeping soul. Weedy hair and constant troubles are getting heavier and heavier, and people are always reluctant to throw it away. They begin to devour nutrients flowing in flesh and blood like greedy maggots, and then grow stronger and stronger.

Cut off a ray of light, I know it's just a person's shadow, so light that it can fly, things can go with the wind, and every ray of light can become a small coffin. Under the dense cover, a sad story should be buried for people to mourn.

Therefore, many memories are buried by time. Only the sunflowers and wanderers in my dreams are burning wildly in my pupils, like fireflies between animal bones, carrying green lanterns and wailing everywhere, while I fall in my dreams and fall into endless darkness. When I woke up and saw the sunshine, I remembered that I had forgotten to bring my soul back.

Fortunately, I also forgot who I had, who I loved, what stories I told and what dreams I had.

Maybe all my dreams will come true when I think of it! At this moment, maybe I can understand what kind of aesthetics I need in my life.

I hope I can help you ~ ~ ~