Prose poems describing tourism

I met you in a city by chance when I was traveling alone. Cap, long scarf, plaid shirt, nostalgic novel, canvas shoes, backpack: we looked at each other up and down, with different colors, but they really looked like long-lost friends without an embarrassing opening. We wandered around the old brick wall together. I saw Van Gogh and his lonely starry sky. You saw the bloody pistol he used to kill himself. All kinds of people in the street stood in front of the window of the boutique without expression. I stared at Trangle in a daze, because I once cherished me the most. I lost the one I saw. You said I never trusted those lazy jazz in the dim light of the bar. Let's raise our glasses and propose a toast. In such a strange city, we meet a traveler dressed like ourselves. Just dressed up the same. You saw the tears in my eyes. I raise my face and tell you with a smile that I am a happy child. At that moment, I saw the desolation in your eyes. You hold me. My hands are cold. That's an unforgettable temperature. I want to keep this warmth, but I dare not say it easily. You shook the glass and said it was too crystal clear. My hand retracted from your palm and knocked off the glass. With that curiosity, we walked into the maze. You climbed over the low wall beside you and handed me a rose. I reached for it happily, but I was stung by a crimson liquid. At midnight, it flows from the wound into a spherical corridor. I call your smile with a sad voice. If the sun is shining, we will travel separately tomorrow, because we all have our own direction, because we will not stay for anyone or anything, even in such a strange environment, we can draw warmth from each other and moisten our broken hearts. The dull atmosphere of dawn is not like parting or blessing each other. The wind got on the train from the opposite direction. The train started and we passed. You stretched out before my eyes until the train disappeared from sight. I found that my tears had already dried up. All this has condensed into a heart of Zhu Shazhi. I got off at the next stop and looked up at the sky. It is green. I still remember that the city where I met you was called Lost. This city is called happiness. I know you are my borrowed happiness.