I hear the song of the city, im in tel aviv 整天整天从窗户向外看，街道的声音，邻居的动作，光线的变化，从童年开始的习惯，一开始我被带入某种粘稠静止的日记里，或许比普鲁斯特的颜色更灰一些，里面隐藏着在一个不是家的城市里，躲在太阳下某间小屋，而世界从身边滑过的徒劳 happiness begins with thinking about yourself, and do whatever you have to make yourself feel better my sister is leaving for Paris tomorrow. it is bad. she knows how to live 时间和空间消失，眼睛和思绪是快进的云
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