unrealistic thoughts

　　Turning a new page, a new day is coming, and the old one will become the past.

　　I have spent countless nights sitting in front of a lamp, thinking about what to write tonight. I can't remember how I put the pen down and how I put it away each time. All I remember is that I would turn off the lamp and fall asleep, my day's task completed, and I could go on to a new day without worry.

　　I know I still think of writing as a daily task, but I also love the feeling of writing. Even though I am not sure what writing means to me now, I just know that I love writing and I write every day. I don't think about the deeper meaning, but just accept it on the surface, and I can feel happy and less worried.

　　Just as I listen to the sound of the traffic outside now, it has never been clearer and makes me feel the joy of silence. Yet I don't bother to find out what kind of car is making that sound and why it's there. This way I can appreciate the joy of silence even more.

　　It's very boring to think about the wet world outside again, I don't want to think about it, but I can't help it, it's like being hungry every day will remind me of eating, and every quiet night will run into my thoughts without an appointment. I seem to have developed this habit when sitting alone in the quiet of the night, will think about what the weather will be like tomorrow, and will also silently in my heart to pray that tomorrow will be a good day. A heavy rain, like the day before yesterday and the days before that, drenched the ground and I was not in a good mood, hoping that tomorrow would be a good day, but I knew that according to the current trend, the good weather was far away and my good mood was also far away.

　　Sometimes I ask boring questions, and even looking back I think I'm sick in the head. Now I have another strange question flashing through my head, but I don't feel like I'm in over my head. I am sane now, so I know that after saying this question, in another six or seven hours, I will feel sick in my head, so I feel sane now that I am irrational again.

　　Why is the night black? Haha! I'm sure many people have been defeated by me when they hear this question. They will admit that the thought is not as profound as mine, perhaps to see Schopenhauer, Descartes, and other philosophical works to be able to reach me. But I would say that even I am defeated by myself. Why is the night black? It's ridiculous. Can you call it night if it's not black? That's as stupid as asking why birds have wings (more on the ostrich later).

　　When I woke up six or seven hours later and thought about this question, I probably thought, like most people, that I was pretending, that I had asked such a stupid question and thought it was so profound, that I thought I had become the embodiment of Schopenhauer or his peers, that I wanted to vomit. But the only place I think different from most people is that, even though I feel disgusted with myself, I will not have the urge to beat myself up, let alone the idea of abandoning myself. You know life is a very precious thing, the only precious thing in my body now, how can I give up? Even if I have a lot of other valuable things in the future, I will not throw my life away. Because I don't believe in God, I don't believe in Buddhism, I don't believe in ghosts and gods, in short, I am not superstitious, so I know there is no reincarnation, life is only once, other valuable things can be abandoned to get again, but life is lost forever.

　　I like to write essays that echo the beginning and end, probably influenced by my middle school teachers. In any case, the only sample essay I can recall from secondary school can be described by the word "first and last". So, forgive my ignorance, I'm going to start and end again, although I don't remember what the first full was about, I can still turn to the front to know what was written in the first line.