The soft light gently covered the White Paper. I lifted the pen and stared at the paper under it, but I couldn’t do it for a long time. Hesitating, hesitating, because I don’t know what to leave on this paper. I can’t stain this piece of paper, just like a knight shouldn’t kiss a princess’s hand casually. The mosquito flew back at my hesitantly hand. Sometimes, the dragonfly gently kissed on my hand like a little water, and ran away as if the child who had done something wrong was afraid of the reprimanding of his parents. Mosquito, mosquito, what are you hesitating about? The night wind blew away the paper on the desk, so pieces of brilliance flew in the air, dazzling people. I stood up, closed the window, refused the call of the wind, and locked the night outside. But the night was so persistent, rushing into the room, enveloping the light just now. The darkness raged and the shop came. The power went out? All right, go out for a walk. I pushed open the door and walked into the yard. The stars all over the sky, with a hint of Moon, spread on the deserted Earth. The tree shadow is mottled, reflecting with the Stars and the moon. Everything is still so beautiful. But what is missing, what? In this season without wind, everything seems a little monotonous, which makes people want to cry. Without the wind, the stars are dead, the moon is dead, and the flowers, plants and trees cannot live even more. The light cast by the moon and stars in the quiet night is like a pool of stagnant water. The shadow of the tree is no longer dancing, just like the low breath of dancers with broken legs. This night needs a wind, but where is the wind? I looked up and saw the clouds standing there blankly, between the stars and the moon. The cloud lost its vitality, because the wind no longer held his hand and danced with the Stars. I lowered my head and looked at the shadow of the tree, the light of stars and moon. They were also looking at me quietly, with dull eyes and lost their vitality. In this season where wind is needed, the wind does not come. Maybe he had already died, and I strangled him in the room when he blew away the paper on the desk. I stood in this night which needed wind, watching the dull night losing my immature life. This night, the wind did not come. I stood quietly in the yard. I want to cry.

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