diary

Night, always so beautiful, beautiful is really not like words. I feel like this feeling unconsciously, and I am used to this kind of work time, and I am used to being unable to extricate myself.

For tomorrow, my heart is counting on expectations. For the future, I have a dream in my heart. It’s just that as the years have passed, the reality slowly approaches us as we approach, only to find out how sad it is. Humble is like the grass, although it exists, but it is always so small.

Think about how many people have left before you raise your hand, and how many things have slowly faded. However, the people waiting for it never appeared, and the heart was indifferent. Often they are so self-righteous, and at the end they find out that they are actually nothing.

So, I understand, between reality and dream, we are gradually approaching reality from our dreams, so that we are getting more and more deviated, and finally the reality is satisfied. Then we turn around and look at the dream. It’s really like that. The hydrogen balloon, flying to the end, everything has turned into nothing.

The dream is away from me, and the rest is just memories. Recalling the scenes that had no color, I think, there is actually nothing worthy of my nostalgia. But every paragraph of life is a kind of experience worth learning, and I am not willing to leave it. So I broke everything, because it was more convenient for me to carry on the long road.

The dreams of the past were very naive. After walking through this one and another yesterday, I stopped the hasty steps and found my childishness and simplicity. There is no such thing as a dream in the world. Some are just infinite. reality. On this long road of life, no one can support me for an umbrella, and no one can take on anything, so I must learn to run in this rain. The clouds of clouds and rain are the direction I am obsessed with.

The second day: I still cry