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We are not in harmony with the world, we are young and frivolous and do not understand the ways of the world, and we linger in the colorful world. In this noisy and impetuous era, it seems there is no room for children who are too quiet. They are all butterflies that cannot fly across the sea, so they cannot see the beautiful flowers blooming on the other side of their lives.
When night falls and the lights are bright, I am like a lonely ghost, curled up in bed and looking through your memories that have long been dusted. The white letter signatures you gave me are now slightly yellowed, but they are still fresh in my memory.
I used to be stubborn and told myself that I didn't need anyone's favor, but later, everything changed. Become vulnerable, tears will flow down inadvertently; become dependent on your favor.
You are the only person who can bring out the weakness and perseverance in my temperament. However, before I knew it, everything was over. I needed to get used to living alone again, and decided to leave the place where I had lived with you for three years.
I chose to escape and give up, because I felt that I was not qualified to get entangled, and I didn't want to delay you anymore. I always cry alone, thinking about the past, and my heart aches. Now that it's over, don't be nostalgic anymore. There's still a long road ahead, and I have to cheer up and face it hard. I hope you can go well all the way.
I randomly opened the past records and saw the mood words of the past few months. There were hopes and disappointments, helplessness and indifference. What can be eternal is something that cannot be touched or truly owned. Maybe the Internet really cannot carry love. Even if it is obtained, it is still so far away. Radio waves can never cross the distance deep in the heart. Pale words cannot explain all of love.
On the road of life, there are many stations. The cars are running numbly or stopping, and people get on and off. There is the warmth and reluctance of seeing off, and there is also the stubbornness and melancholy of being alone on the road. The scenery along the way flies by, and life is like this wandering. I know where the road I am taking leads to, and I think to myself that this is the stop of my life.
In this late night in late December, everything seemed to be still, and I finally stopped and stopped running. It feels so good to be still, relaxed, comfortable and happy.
At eleven o'clock in the night, the lights outside the window are still transparent, and the neon red of the prosperous city in the distance is bright, like immortal fireworks, full of temptation; under the immortal tall buildings there are immortal drunkenness, dreams and death, and on the immortal streets there is the eternal hope of beauty. I put the tip of my nose against the glass, trying to see the world outside the window clearly, but Faye Wong's Flowers of the Other Side lingered in my ears. What an ambiguous voice, what a sad mood.
Why is my other shore empty and unattended? Turn the music to the loudest and feel the unbridled relief. My ears feel burning. Close my eyes and all the helplessness, pain and sadness seem to be gone.
If all that is typed on the keyboard is helplessness and sadness, will the sadness in my heart be reduced? Or will it help you see more clearly? I thought that since this world is so realistic and does not conform to my illusory dreams, the more I wake up, the more painful it will be. I would rather be a child who is not dark about the world, a little more innocent and a little more confused.
Every time I leave, I feel a sense of displacement. Maybe I feel like this after just going through a journey. The station of life has ups and downs, stability, sadness and joy. When you reach the station, you get off. Where is the next stop? A chaotic life is nothing but wandering.