Silent nights

The night was so silent. Whenever night came, all the noise stopped, and the night was surprisingly quiet. I love the silence, without any noise or the roar of the machines, as if only this quiet night can make me calm down and feel this familiar and strange world.

I always envy others for being able to write things, but whenever I write myself, I am at a loss. In my thirties, I should be the age to fade away and see the facts, but I still feel like a stupid child, clumsily moving forward in this world.

People during the day, as if in armor and masks, play various roles in the noisy crowd, saying true or false words, coping with complex interpersonal relationships that have to be dealt with. Only at night, a quiet night can make people relax wholeheartedly. It's like a fish, swimming alone in the sea in the moonlight, you can laugh, you can cry, and the night will contain all your unbearable.

Maybe this state of mind is probably a bit of social fear, but I don't reject it, life is only a few decades, and I don't have to be too deliberate to cater to others.