The beauty in my imagination is the floating foam in summer, which will break when touched and never reach it. How can I identify whether others are lying in the disguise of kindness; In the dusk, the noise becomes quiet, the sight becomes blurred, and the dark night cannot see the way home, the faces of people walking through the pavement cannot be seen clearly. I believe that the kindness of others can not heal the wound, leaving indelible scars; I don’t want to say that I am very kind; I don’t want to say that I am innocent; but I will never use others’ kindness to hide my unbearable feelings. You can make up for your humble, but please don’t regard me as a fool who decorates your dreams; You can tell your lies as a sweet candy, but please don’t use false flattery as an excuse; You can arm yourself into a ruthless chopstick hand, but please don’t sprinkle salt on my wound, because sometimes I am stupid. The broken kite can still hover in the boundless sky; The withered leaves can also fall down the earth and grind it into dust with the wind and rain; Homeless beggars can continue wandering far away tomorrow with hope; but how can I heal the bleeding wound and have the belief of tomorrow if I am cheated and injured. He in your eyes is never the real one. When you turn around, he smiles and your tears hurt; If you just want to cheat sympathy from other people’s lives, Then please don’t disturb others’ stability like a person in a cover. “The brave migratory birds can’t fly without breakpoints”, The Four Seasons cycle, the sky is vast, migratory birds fly south, looking for warm nests. Brave migratory birds, night sky and then black, road and then bumps, cold wind showers, across a long journey, non-stop fly. We, who are always young, are like migratory birds. Even if the dream in the distance is the reflection in the water, it will turn into bubbles when touched; Even if we are covered with scars at the end, we are not afraid of wind and rain, I don’t want to get rid of the misery. In our eyes, there are only fairy tales that will not change. When the years pulled down the beautiful film curtain, the night fell, the ending of the story was frozen, and it would never repeat itself; But the brave migratory birds were still not afraid of the cold flying, not afraid of the desolation and chasing constantly, it was not until we found the warm eaves and built a happy nest that we were willing to take off our wings and live a stable and calm life. Gray sky, wandering migratory birds, singing wandering songs, flying to the south bravely, flying over the breakpoint of the balance line, Stop at the warm nest, leaving an immortal trace. We who are young and fond of dreaming, no matter the unreachable dream or the flash in the pan like a bubble, will keep chasing. Even if the equator is no longer rotating, even if the gear of the fleeting year is no longer changing, I still have to keep chasing; I crossed the encirclement of the Long mountain road, overlooked the beautiful country thousands of miles away, and kept flying. I don’t want to waste my youth in the quiet and messy time. I just want to be a brave migratory bird and fly over the gray sky at a breakpoint, just like I used to fly happily.

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