The death of an owl

Once, I went to work in a new factory building and saw an owl that was very tired but still doing its best to fly. The plant is very large, the windows are closed, and the owls shuttle back and forth between the windows to find the exit. Listening to the manager said: "This owl has been here for a few days. When the door is opened, it does not go out from the door. It insists on flying out from the window above. When it flies, the window above does not contain glass, and now it is fitted with glass. Can't fly out, the windows are too high and not so high."

When I heard these words from the administrator, I was very distressed by this owl. We are so similar: the same stubbornness, rather than bowing, not hitting the south wall. So I decided to help this poor owl. I opened all the doors below, and even the windows below were all open. Then he took the stick and drove it to the door and window. It flew on the open doors and windows several times. As long as he flew down half a meter, he could fly out from the door. Unfortunately, he did not want to let go of his dignity. Go out. In order to save it, I drove it over and over to the door and window, but unfortunately it refused to condescend. At the end I was tired, the owl was exhausted, and in order not to exhaust it, I gave up and drove.

In a few days, I came there again, the owl is dead. It lay quietly on the ground, its wings stretched, and the two claws contracted to fly. I know it fights until the last moment, until it is exhausted and dead. I cried, for the owl, more myself.

The relatives and friends around me have made a fortune in business, and only I have spent a lot of time on reading. For the literary dream, the star dream, I gave up a lot of money to buy and sell. Everyone thinks stupid, I can't stand it alone. Cao Xueqin said: "There is a lot of ridiculous words, a bitter tears. Duyun authors are crazy, who can understand the taste." Perhaps I am aspirational, perhaps not willing to accept the cold reality, looking for spiritual comfort for myself. I am eager for the discrimination and contempt of others, how many spring, summer, autumn and winter sneak away, I am still reading my book; writing the suppression of the heart, one page, one page is fixed in the past. As youth fades away, the ideal is still out of reach. Just like the punters in the ocean, the other side is squatting, only the endless paddling. Maybe there will be a day on the shore, maybe buried in the waves, only the lucky ones can succeed. However, I am a person like an owl, insisting on finding an export in a certain field. As Wang Feng sang: "Although the lost shackles will smash my footsteps; although the trauma of the years has made me bruises, I firmly believe that the light is in the distance." "The East is lost, the mulberry is not late. Ning shifts the heart of Baishou; poor and Yijian does not fall into the ambition of Qingyun." Although the star is far away, it can be picked up; Penglai is far away, and there are years to go.

Even if the ideal is negative, I will not be happy. The ideal is my spiritual pillar. It keeps me fighting, not being overthrown by anything, but also healing the wounds of my heart. I will always stick to my dreams until I die.

The owl has fallen, I am still looking for my exit, I am going to be exhausted, where is the exit?·····