make blind and disorderly conjectures

I sat on the sunny chair on the last day of 2017. On the balcony, the afterglow of the sunset was screened by the screen window and printed on the tea table. The wind blows, and the sun spots are dancing. The cup with half a cup of yellow rice wine on the tea table also accidentally dropped some fireworks, either hidden or present, with or without. Just like the feeling in my mind that I can no longer tell, I stretch out my hand to grasp it, but I can no longer grasp it. In December, I put down my two minds, left three minds on the 31st, and entered the first single-minded day of the year. Whether reincarnation is the same, it always faces the end, and it always hurts to accept the future helplessly.

The stereo beside me is quietly singing those old songs. Years do not return, leaving behind the melody and the footprints of youth that once moved. That year, there was a tape in the box. About winter, you taught me to sing this song. I feel the warmth in the lonely melody. Your unique voice makes the air around you interweave and compose the melody of first love. The setting sun is redder, the shadow is thinner, the song is floating, the song is in, and the person is not in. In those days, the smile was thick, and now the wine is thin and the shadow is lonely. Everyone has a hamlet in his heart, and everyone has different feelings from the same song, and only missing now belongs to me. If the heart can play melody, if the years can compose music, if the road we have traveled together can be recorded, I think those good times can be played into beautiful songs, so that the thoughts now are no longer so monotonous.

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