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loneliness is a garden

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    ?

    No one understands her.

    She always stands alone by the window.  Look up at the clouds in the sky.  Sometimes, the weather is not beautiful and it will rain.  The rain was slanting, as if it had taken away the glory of the world.

    She is wearing a white dress.  The face is pure without any impurities.

    Long black hair hangs down her chest.

    Sweat seeps on the eyelashes.

    Someone came over.  Step lightly.

    She heard the voice and turned around.

    Just a passerby passed by.

    I can't help but be surprised at my sensitivity.

    It seems that there are no precious things in this world.  As we grow older, longing swells with desire.

    Five years ago, she just came to this city.  I rented a private house in the suburbs.

    Take the bus to work every day.  Headphones in ears.  Listening to different types of songs, the ears are about to explode.

    She is often in a daze.

    Pedestrians, roads, and high-rise buildings are all her scenery.  She leaned against the glass, resting her forehead with her hand, watching quietly.

    40 minutes journey.

    A reincarnation of ten songs.

    I have often portrayed this woman.

    She is beautiful, beautiful.  It keeps popping up in my head.  I wanted to write the ending for her.  But it has not been written yet.

    Recently the mood has been up and down.

    And writing is still my best friend.

    The Spring Festival is coming soon.  The factory department gave us a long vacation.  I don't know how to spend the long vacation.

    The fingers became extremely painful due to prolonged stretching of the elastic band.  The lips that did not speak became extremely dry.

    Sometimes, I will work overtime very late.  It was completely dark.  The stairs, the boiling crowd stretched in my memory.

    At that time, I wanted to have an independent space.  Go do what you love.

    I'm very lonely.  So I desperately hope that someone will listen to me.  But I have no friends.

    ? My definition of a friend is very narrow.  Because I don't like hypocrisy.

    Began to read O. Henry's book.

    I often don't go to bed until 11 o'clock.

    I don't like going to bed late.

    Get used to eating persimmons and drinking a glass of milk before going to bed.  The weight is getting heavier and heavier.

    There are still pimples on the face that have not disappeared.

    Will miss the past.

    This is a bad sign.

    Thinking of the taste of Nescafe coffee, rolling in my stomach.

    The night is sad and transparent.

    My solitude is a garden.

    Planted full of purple roses.

    Where the wind passes by, there are traces of the years.

    Inexplicably like it.

    Inexplicably happy.  (Remember the site URL: www.hlnovel.com
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