Blow off the fog, the fog clears, and then there is a full moon. Watch. I will miss you, think about it, maybe I will see you, ta. Don't think and ask, because you will be tired. The curtain of falling night is too dark, and the stars are hanging in the sky, which is beautiful. Look, your eyes are staring, your fingers are pointing, and you are counting. We know many people, so you can take notes. Blowing, the wind is coming, the wind is blowing, and your hair floats to your waist. You let it drift with the wind, you follow, and the footsteps of fireflies illuminate every step of your progress. Look, you have a constant yearning, reaching out and trying to hold happiness firmly in your hand. What went out, in your hands, does not belong to you and me, it belongs to this nature. When you return to her arms, you see its light again, illuminating you standing in the dark. Chase, you run on the grass, chase in the direction of the wind, and want to make the kite fly higher and higher.
The higher you are, the less you are a bird. You can't let it go because it flies higher and farther because of you. The farther you go, the longer you go, because you have been running and chasing, your eyes are in the distance, and you said you would go to that place one day. In your mind, you meditate several times, for several days, and then you are forgotten in the corner. You still go forward, the goal remains the same, or the place. One day, you remembered the reason for going there, and suddenly you found that this reason was no longer valid. Just like the broken line in your hand, you don't understand that the dream of fighting for freedom and progress is actually a piece of paper, which you drew and changed. Others have made too many mistakes. You said this paper is not enough to hold what you want. You changed it because you thought it was bad. Why don't you erase it and start over?
Others say that paper is useless, because it has been painted, changed and riddled with holes. Don't give up, because it left your memories. You want to move forward, your head looks forward, and your eyes fall in the distance, unchanged. You think it's close, within reach, but far away. Your paper plane has been dragging in your hand, waiting to take off. In the take-off season, on that day, let it fly. You wait, rain or shine, waiting for the full moon to clear up, waiting for the day when the wind blows, watching the paper plane, following the traces of the wind and flying forward like you chase butterflies and bees.
If, one day, the paper plane flies there. If one day, you walk there If, at that time, you picked up the paper plane, would you open the memories one by one and finish reading them, so as not to let the tears flow down because of happiness?