Run out of thick ink

The world is complicated, often the more you experience, the simpler you think, the less you think, the more insipid, and the petals of time fall one by one; the distant back disappears in front of you little by little, just inadvertently, when you turn around, the red Xie becomes a graceful long word; when you look back, your heart is thin into a silent cold moon; with a wave of your sleeves, your thoughts turn into a drizzle. Helplessly, the flowers fell, and the thick ink was exhausted, and I just wanted to circle the outline of time on the plain paper, and I just wanted to peel off the haggard shell in nostalgia when I said goodbye to the passing years.