Composition title: Walke asked for 400-word prose.

In the misty moonlight, I walk on the dark road every night, and there is harsh laughter in my ear. I only felt that the light was dazzling, which stung my eyes slightly, and the white breath from my mouth floated to my face. The weather is cold and cold. Is this the youth I should enjoy? Shouldn't youth be a shining word? Shouldn't it be full of happiness and laughter?

Why, when I am alone, I feel that this is my true youth. Youth is a sad word for me. ...

I once fantasized that I was such a reckless and heartless person who was crazy all day. Will that be happier than it is now? Unfortunately, I can't. Even sometimes, I don't have the courage to do what I want. Is this cowardice?