In late autumn in Ningxia, there is always a chill. In the morning, the wind blew, and the cold blew away the melancholy with the wind.
Pieces of yellow leaves, rustling from the branches, some sad and confused.
Walking along the path, standing on the leaves, raising your collar, buttoning your buttons, and holding your arms tightly on your chest, it's cold.
The wind stopped, the rain fell, dripping, wet my dream clothes and wet my dream.
Autumn is cold, the wind is cold, and the north wind is bleak and refreshing. At that moment, in the rain, I chewed the bitterness of the rain and recalled the indifference of the autumn wind.
Again, a person, walking without an umbrella, let the rain soak the wet heart. Helpless, wandering, attacking me, like an executioner holding a decapitation knife at me.
It's raining and it's cold in autumn, so I can't find my way home.
Without the passion of life, it is like a stagnant pool, with fallen leaves floating on it, animal carcasses stinking, and people-eating mosquitoes and flies hovering around, with scarlet eyes, looking for prey. In this season, I lost myself.
Li in the sad autumn scenery, a wanderer all the year round, lives alone on the high platform in today's illness. At that moment, I couldn't find happiness or an excuse to continue. I walked quietly alone, letting the autumn rain wash away my heart and sorrow.
It's raining and it's very cold in autumn. In this season, I lost myself.