Thunderstorm season is a disaster film, and the space is broken into powder. Our journey is like enjoying the splendor of destruction. The dark sky drowned the last glimmer of light, leaving only a glimmer of hope. In the field of vision, it is an invisible field, a mountain-like outline. Everything was swallowed up by the rain and gradually disappeared. In this era of disappearance.
He said, you can never cross the same river. You are not who you used to be. After this second, the previous second has become history. Afraid! I'm afraid that such people will gradually be forgotten and even forget who they are.
Time is a lion with a soft cushion, passing by us quietly.
Corn candy, once my favorite, is hard to find now; The lively canteen in the village is also deserted, and fewer people shout at cards; Doraemon flew away with his bamboo dragonfly; When I was a child, the land I played on the mountain was turned over by an excavator, like flesh and blood exposed to the air and blackened. Wildflowers and weeds that make annual rings or crowns have also become fertilizers for loess. The flowers are gone, even the red dragonfly chasing in the evening is gone. What about the people who play top? Where's the sandbag thrower? What about the people who play upgrade and double Q? Where are the bungee jumpers? What about people who play house? My childhood playmates are still there, joking and fighting, but I always feel that something is missing; Fold a paper plane now, but it can't fly out of the taste of childhood; Every time I look in the mirror, I feel strange in the mirror for a long time. Under the lens, my eyes are confused, my eyes are wrapped in bloodshot, and I have no youthful luster. My skin is oxidized by years and covered with traces of youth. My youth has passed, but my acne is still there. The clothes are bigger, the shoes are bigger, the place to live is bigger, the place to learn is bigger, but our dreams are smaller. It was naive at that time, but unfortunately, it was only then.
After all, we are young and always use the word world, as if the whole world is ours, or we are the world. Even this era belongs to us. Who is young and not frivolous? So, then what?
Then, we thought that if we got the favor of time, we could spend freely. Our sky is pure blue, our land is dark brown, and our dream is brilliant golden yellow. A can of sake and a few ounces of beef are enough.
Until reality shines into illusion and wakes us up. We are dreamers. We woke up and lost our jobs.
Lost a beautiful fantasy, leaving only helplessness and surrender to reality. Doing the same thing over and over again every day like a walking corpse, waking up, eating breakfast, going to work, attending classes, being chic and going to hell. After lunch, have a rest, continue the unfinished business in the morning, after dinner, work overtime, study, entertainment, convulsions and depravity. The earth will turn like this until the day of destruction.
What are we? In this vague world of human definition, strength proves everything, so everyone wants to be a person. This is one of the reasons for the progress of the world, and the desire to constantly pursue reproduction has expanded the whole universe.
Once you have it, it is still good after all. We are animals that know how to remember, and we can use words to carry those who are at a loss. It was only from the beginning that we deviated from the track, because the original belief had disappeared from the beginning.
What is the memory of being born eighteen years ago? What did we learn in kindergarten fourteen years ago? What was our great ambition ten years ago? Who was your deskmate eight years ago? What was the first thing you said when you entered high school four years ago? What was your plan to enter the university a year ago? What were you doing at this time a day ago? What are you thinking about? What are you now?
What is the significance of writing this text? I don't know. What is the intention of reading this text? You know what else?
In the cloudy sky, heavy rains raged and they spread along the glass windows. My world began to blur.
This is an era of disappearance, an era of disappearance, an era of disappearance, an era of disappearance, an era of loss, an era, a generation. . . . . .
Looks like it. . . . . Haha ~ ~ it depends on your preference ~