The Light of Time

The light of time, in the late afternoon cold, dulled the color, dense into a blur of white.

The loneliness of the garment, in the dark blue night more and more highlighted its glittering glory, as if a sultry woman that does not want to smile.

The fact is that you can find a lot of people who are not able to get a good deal on a lot of things.

The world is too complicated, or my heart is too fragile?

In the unmoving silence, in the unrestrained laughter, or the uncontrollable crying, my heart always has that cloud of sorrow that cannot be wiped away - that is the confusion of life.

It is undeniable that deep down I have always aspired to a life free of contention with the world and a small bridge, even in this social environment without material backing, everything is a luxury, and I have been doing my best to maintain inner purity.

Yes, for so many years, I have been living capriciously in the world created by my feelings, everything is beautiful, however, everything is unreal. No matter how many imaginary lovers there are, they are not as comforting as the warmth of a friend's hug in real life. This is true.

However, the raw confusion I faced was also true.

I will always pour all my love and hope into someone or something I think is wonderful. Friends have warned me repeatedly that this is dangerous. Yet, I love the risk. Time and time again, after the love was lost and the hope was empty, I went to the other extreme, for everything, is indifferent, and all do not care to manage all the "necessary" in life.

The sunrise woke up the morning, but my world was not reborn, freedom was imprisoned by the invisible cage for so many years, only to find that the soul again recovery

But it's not that easy. I am used to the cage under the circle of others, used to the hysterical blind resistance, used to the silent lamb-like compromise. The soul, as if drinking the poisonous wine of indifference, is beyond remedy.

In my mind, hope is a luxury, the so-called ideal is dispensable. The days passed by without a sound. My heart, still under the river of life, has been drowning, drowning.

I can't see the light of dawn, I can't hold the torch of hope, I don't scream for help, nor do I struggle to save myself, I'm just this decadent, just this sinking, just this degraded. At least, my heart is like this.

The other day in the ice class, Qiu Ju together learned to skate and fell on the ice. The fall didn't hurt very much, but after I got up, I didn't hold back and cried out, tears running down my face. In this cry, I remembered the first time I fell in middle school when I ran as a group, I also cried out like this. So, memories that had been dormant for years were like water that had broken through the ice, bubbling up like a spring.

I still remember an English class in my first year, when the teacher asked me in English what I wanted to be when I grew up, and my answer was "a writer".

I also still remember a language class towards the end of junior high school, the teacher said, "A great man said, 'Give me a fulcrum, I will pry the whole earth', students, for life, what is your fulcrum?" The teacher asked many students, and my answer was "unyielding iron bones and love for the world".

Many of the glories of my youth, which I thought were so colorful, have faded away with the wind of the years. But to this day, I remember every word I ever firmly answered so vividly.

I have to admit that over the years, I have not really forgotten my original dream, nor have I ever really given up from the bottom of my heart, even on the most confusing days. However, with the heavy burden of love, surrounded by this worldly fence, I also have to admit that I have not paid for my dream. Dreams, like clothes that have gone out of fashion, have been put aside by me for so many years. And in this shelving, in these all kinds of unsatisfactory days, I am more towards the road of decadence slipped.

Now, the first semester of college is coming to an end, this period every night before going to bed meditation, always makes me panic, more than 100 days again by me so wasted. The past is untraceable, and the memory of the past is bitter to know. I don't dare to look back on the past easily, but tonight I also became a fish swimming against the current, swimming to the beginning of the long river of memory - the land of dreams. Regardless of the future direction of the river of life, dreams are still so vividly growing in the most primitive places of life, as brilliant as flowers, as luxuriant as forests, as exquisite as the red maple leaves drifting in the golden autumn, on the shore of the clear spring, solidified into eternal beauty.

For the beauty of this dream, for this not to return to the flow of years, it is time to struggle.