Colorful neon lights on the horizon turned into charming blue northern lights. I have been chasing this distant aurora, so I understand-that is the trace of my dream passing by.

You, without outstanding talent and excellent grades, are determined by ordinary fate. There is no exciting action, no stormy struggle, you always love to escape from yourself, you always love to give up yourself, hide in the corner of the city, hide behind the glitz, hide your true self and cry sadly.

You always seem calm and calm, I know you must be very upset; You always seem tolerant and optimistic. I know you must be very sad and want to cry ... I know you better than you, even better than myself.

You study hard all day. You said it was for your great dream, painter? Musician? Scientists? A writer? No, actually, you don't have a dream. Those popular dreams are just a pile of earthly rubbish to you. Your so-called real dreams, as you said, are beautiful aurora. Although I don't understand it very well, I can imagine its exciting beauty, so I follow you to pursue your so-called dream.

On that day, you were lying on the green grass in the playground, enjoying the fresh air. There was a word "big" on the ground, with a grass in your mouth and your head in your hands, looking up at the white clouds moving slowly in the sky. I asked you curiously what you were doing, but you muttered, "Where can you only see the sky?" That day, you sat on a pile of stones by the sea, letting the wind blow your hair and let them dance with the wind. Your eyes are slightly closed and you look relaxed. I asked you curiously what you were doing, and once again you said irrelevantly, "The sea and the wind are singing!" That day, you were walking alone in the street at night, and the dim light shone on you. You looked around and suddenly stopped and left. I asked you curiously, and you smiled and said to me, "I played hide-and-seek with the shadow." On that day, you and I walked on a path covered with fallen leaves, and the trees on both sides covered the scorching sun. I watched you pick up the fallen leaves on the ground, it was a spring leaf. You put it to your mouth with a breeze and played a sweet bagpipe, which echoed in the forest. I am happy to ask you, "Are you playing with nature?" You nodded, a naive smile appeared on your face, and then a lonely and quiet bagpipe kept echoing, echoing, echoing. ...

We sat back to back on the grass, watching the sunset and the hazy new moon. You point to the junction of the red and blue sky, and a purple bond flutters in the sky. "That's the footprint of a dream." I smiled, lowered my head and whispered, "That's a dull galaxy trying to shine in the sky!" " "