Dream, it's this kind of dream again, it's happening again.
...
She led me into a palace occupied by flowers. It's said to be in ruins, but it doesn't look like it. The various furnishings inside are not covered in dust. It's just the large open flowers that seem a bit wild.
That's a crooked-neck tree, visible through the window in the wilderness. There were once two running shadows under the tree. I think they loved each other so much. But in the distance, even further away, it's still the same. The boundless wilderness brings fear just like seeing the endless snow at the poles. The river is blocked by rotting wood, and the dirty veins may not flow again for some time. During the day, the tree is a sprinkler, and the flying flowers open like rain in the wind.
A person is roaring in the wilderness, as if crying, the surrounding weather is too dark. Night is about to fall. Perhaps he has lost something, perhaps he is looking for something, perhaps he has just escaped from somewhere. Or perhaps he has just experienced something. A fork in the road ahead leads to a dark forest. The words he keeps repeating are unclear. Perhaps he is terrified, perhaps he is sad, but no matter what is tearing him apart, or how he feels. The dark night has fallen.
When I woke up, I sat by the window. Through the opposite window, I could only see darkness. I don't think it's safe here for too long. The night sky outside is brighter than indoors. Tonight may be the last night.
This bridge is indeed unsafe, too close to the water, and anything that can jump can pull a person down. The water grass on both sides of the opposite bank is as high as a person. My concern is not unfounded.
The starry sky on the street is too strange, just like the dead rainbow I saw in some waste water many years ago. The ground is green, just like what I saw through the night vision device.
Snowy plains, with light snow falling. But if this light snow continues, it will become a disaster. The darkness in front of me is like a snowy TV screen. Surprisingly, the windmills on several tall towers are still turning. Something lives inside them, but it's definitely not human.
That's my gut feeling.
Behind a few trees, you can see the only stretch of railway here. Walking along it will lead back to the world of most people. The sound of the train is getting closer. Yet, I'm afraid and need to hide. It's too dark here, and even if the people on the train look out the window, they will only think it's a tunnel. The roar must not be heard by the things in the tall towers.
Further ahead, that snowy plain, I know it. Billions of years ago, a poet scattered all his poems here, and those letters fell to the ground, and the content of the poems took root. From then on, a hidden world was born in the real world. It's mysterious and dangerous. Is it lucky or unlucky for the very few who can enter this world?
Ah, the man from before, the man who was screaming and shouting in the wilderness, has come to mind again. It looks like he has chosen a straight path to walk. If a path seems to be all-encompassing, I think, except for the bodies on the path itself, anyone else on either side or in the distance will only be a target.
The red light in the sky? Or is it mist? I don't think I'll have a chance to know.
If there is still tomorrow, I love you all.
If there is no tomorrow, please forget me.
I am already a lost lamb.
Hey, I suddenly remembered that in those horror movies, people always say hello when facing the unknown. Do you think they are expecting a response or responding themselves?
...
The electric fan turned listlessly with a squeak, squeak. Yao was still sleeping soundly by my side, her forehead covered in a thin layer of sweat. The camisole hooked onto the girl's collarbone, that kind of fragrance still faintly discernible.
So it's another dream? But it feels like a memory. It's like having two selves in two different worlds. But whatever it is, it has been tormenting me for a while. I can't go on like this.
Ah, the rabbit. The slight rise and fall of her chest, the tiny heart breaks with a pinch. Beautiful things are so easily destroyed. As I gaze at her, I suddenly want to do something, and my hand starts to search between her neck and knees. As if in response to my desire, she wakes up, and with just one glance, she's straddling me. Wearing this nightgown, she is more enchanting than ever. When her hair falls around her chest like embracing tentacles, she suddenly becomes sleepy again. In fact, she hasn't fully woken up, and with this strange drowsiness, we both embrace tightly and fall into a deep sleep, as the light rain begins to drift outside the window. With the storm and the rain, this weariness deepens even more.
Dreams and memories, it's hard to distinguish between them, isn't it?
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