The bustling crowd, the noisy mood, each in different directions, good and bad, right and wrong, moving forward each other, the face like a wind vane, recorded the dark, hidden uneasiness, conveying joy, and the silence and helplessness along the way.

It was a long time ago, an idea, perhaps a light decision, pushed its boat out into an uncertain future.

This is not necessarily, but there is some fate, look back, go far, fly high, with the tide of the wind and waves, more is a scattered, full of smoke and dust hopeless and unresolved. Years later, you find that the song in the sky, the blooming flowers, the struggling silence, in the twists and turns of the wind, time passes like a scene, shaking off the seasons, the scene is strange. Scattered and scattered, piled and piled up, leaving the so-called Xiao Cha, and a piece of once beautiful, but no longer singing withered scenery.

Is this the end of a long journey?

I envy those calm eyes, no joy, also not depressed, think, there must have been a crowd outside the quiet place, confirmed the way to go, never know to return, and thus calm. There must be a lot of practice in the waves, and the choice of obstacles will make rough and uneven, like horses riding pingchuan.

Envy is the norm, and the panic of life is all about it. Wandering not only you and me, in times of constraints, lost the courage and perseverance, the vast red dust, with the heart, indistinguishable things, just because to stay, stay in the right and wrong, right and wrong feelings, so anxious and helpless as a shadow, following their life, indistinct, but also year after year.