A Foggy Biography

When a person is in the fog, he can only see the myriad gray that covers the whole region. As people go outside the fog they will see the clouds. Mist and clouds serve as metaphor of many themes. It may mean the last opportunity to see a painful end, or lack of clarity, or even a lack of boundaries. Many writers use these metaphor in books, and they are almost cliche. Poets do not use this technique too often. Both Sylvia Plath and Carl Sandburg use these themes at least once.

Do you understand that the morning is not the same? That's a long way. Even saying "Fuzzy" in a few days can not capture the whole picture of a specific fog day. If you are really worried, that is not the case. There are kinds of fog. Everyone adopts the landscape in various ways, smells a little differently, and feels a different skin. The two rains are not exactly the same. There are not two suns. There is no breeze or snow. Everyday is the phenomenon that once existed. You know this, but you still have to fight it, otherwise you will treat it as trivial. I am writing this letter, but I will tell you this is not an easy thing. In addition to your stress and fear, you have to leave yourself in a rush of a miracle. This is a damn change. It makes you expect and optimistic

There were not as many places to think about when snow fell as Venice. My other self is the Venice winter, the dark alley and the silence of the water; perhaps it is because I grew up in a city in a foggy bay where the day begins and the ending ends with a dark white wrapper corpses The only dark alley we saw that day was myself. This is the last time I saw the lagoon, so I never felt goodbye wrapped in an unforgettable atmosphere. I will forget his eyes, but I never forgotten the heavy fog, the long black covered gondola sitting in the tranquility of the cold canal, and the footprints I placed in subtle snowfall . Premature nostalgia and mother's humpback whale made me feel warm. This spell makes the next big decision in my life.

In the fog winter, there is a violent breath like smoke from our trembling mouth. It was the fog 's winter morning when I first kissed. The smoke killed a nostalgic mist for me. You can not see the difference between smoke and fog with the naked eye. Smoke is just a fog and evil dark spirit. Most of us live in the smoke. It's like living in a dark, frustrating movie, we are late for twenty five minutes. You know that an emergency seems to be happening. However, we can not understand the story or export of core issues. We do not know what role we should play or what plot it is hard to understand. I belong to that generation, and I am fascinated by fog machines and movie lights. I remember using the laser in Chandigarh's fog in the late 1990s. It forms a smooth straight line that illuminates the particles floating in the air. As it was temporarily stopped in mid-2017. Our lives may be like a messy car on the Noida highway