fairy tale

I am in a hurry, lost so desolate

The wind started and the clouds began to flow. Turn around and pretend not to see. If loneliness is an addiction, take a leaf and put it on your lips, which means my miss.

The leaves fell, and the cloudy days were a little cold, closing my eyes and hearing my breath. If the thought is a disease, tear off a blank sheet of paper, write down the mood, and commemorate the disease of missing.

In the warm sunset, I saw that my shadow was stretched indefinitely and looked so desolate.