This is a cold and fresh place.
I go there reluctantly every day,
And then leave happily,
Running on the way home.
Slowly, I accepted the reality,
Just get used to it,
Get up at sunrise,
Return at sunset.
I have a life there,
Although I don't like it very much.
However, with the increase of age,
I am already familiar with everything here.
What will happen next,
But it's weird.
where am I going? Where should I go?
A little reluctant,
Loneliness contains a fresh anxiety.
In the migration of years,
Here,
I have left my youth behind.