Indifferent to the dust you left on your skirt years ago.
Quiet flowers bloom and fall, in the noise of that time.
Then the fingertips darken if there is no residual temperature.
On plain satin embroidered pillows,
There are still signs of struggle in my sleep.
A messy fold.
The warmth of unstable voice.
Twist the rest of your hair together.
Although it is like Huaxing flowing water, it will erase the traces of memory one by one.
The subconscious still follows the pace of intuition.
I want to escape.