Goodbye to the past, hello to the future

"Goodbye, Past" | text: years are silent

"Flower-like youth, allow me to bury you"

/01/

Looking back is the ladder of the forward step, because of the attachment and reluctance to the past, in order to continue to run to the future with a lot of yin red blood after experience. The past, no matter what kind of posture it appears, when recalled, it is far away at an alienated pace.

The rushing river of the years, turbid but with a little thickness, flows quietly to the unknown distance. When we look back indifferently, we are always staring at us with the face of an old man. There is less restlessness in youth, less vigor at that time, and the illusion that is clearly extinguished in the heart is also a little less colorful in the gully of reality.

It turns out that the future is just a fairy tale. When giving us a beautiful illusion, don't forget to give us a pain. Growing up has always been a state of arrogance and ambiguity, and when you really work hard in society, you can see the towering cement forest around you, only to find that growing up is such a momentary thing. The memories of my youth are even more precious. At this time, I tried to grasp something, but found that it was futile to raise my hands.

At that time, the attachment became a thick wall. It's like an innocent person, suddenly pulled by the black and white teams to their respective teams, pulling and pulling between the hesitation, not knowing where to go. So I wanted to do a complete liberation: after talking to the past, I would be indefinite, and I would say hello to the future. After really writing, Fang was shocked to realize that the collapse of the years was so simple. Behind the small story, there is also a huge mood. It is as if under the blue sky is the earth that has multiplied and lived for generations. Calmly and tolerantly accept everyone who comes.

I always think that the road ahead is difficult, but I don't know that the road of memory is also so far away, after all, people and things have gone away. No traces have been left, but at some moment of encounter complaining, how can they forget.

/02/

The memory stretches endlessly over the mountains, stretching to the end of the eye. At that time, the mountains and rivers were beautiful, the chickens were chirping, and watching the smoke shake out of an orange-red sun, my heart was also happy. The quiet and peaceful village, like a child who has never awakened, sinks in his sleep and has been sleeping peacefully. I took a bucket of clothes that had been changed last night and washed it carefully at the creek not far away.

The stream flows down from the deep mountains, is crystal clear, and nourishes a side of the water and soil. As a child, I rode a dilapidated two-wheeled bicycle, all the way from one side of the mountain to the other, going to school, after school, like an insurmountable track. The combination of rain and cold, or the sun shining and the setting sun, and the winding path that had been walking for many years with loess, the creek that followed the road, and the silhouette of the mountain, together constituted the memories of my childhood. The large rice field in front of the door also makes the heart extremely broad-minded. Childhood playmates do not know when, forget each other's faces, and even forget each other's weight in the heart.

When he was young, he inherited the patience and silence of the mountains, and he seemed calm in the crowded queue. But because of the dependence of the mountain, it is a little more fragile and helpless. However, society is not as described in the book, the world is hot and cold, and it must be grasped by itself. It was as if they had suddenly squeezed into the crowded street, trying to step in step by step, merging. At that time, it can also be regarded as a carefree day, not to explore how thrilling the future is, not to think about whether the sun will rise tomorrow, but to follow the original path and follow the rules. But there are still some secrets hidden in the heart, such as the places that are eager to go, such as some trinkets that you want, such as the boy's long eyelashes. But these are all under the heavy burden of academics, and the boring life has not become colorful. But by the moment the parting bell rang and all the tourists had announced their dissolution, useless tears had fallen. The dappled time, hard to carve our passing, on some unknown tree, layers of new leaves covered its luster, withered, and then eaten by the wind and rain.

The time of that year is a scenery that has not been appreciated in the past. The loneliness of being in a foreign land makes me nostalgic for the old days. Falling into a larger whirlpool, heavy schoolwork, and inner panic about the future, all poured into the heart in an instant. Painful, but persistently. Human feelings are sophisticated, many unpredictable roads, the future that cannot be seen at the end, and rush into the heart, which makes people caught off guard. When I was looking forward to growing up and really stepping into the circle of adults, I laughed at my ignorance. We always think that what we can't get is the best, but we often ignore the most beautiful scenery around us.

Imagine the large classroom crowded by the presence of dozens of people, the humid air all around, and dozens of young men with glasses lurking in the thick pile of books, with hope for the future, with disappointment in the dead silence of youth, abandoning freedom, abandoning colorful life, looking for a straight line in the world of books, leading them straight to the end of life. Whose smiles decorate the emptiness of the classroom, whose handsome handwriting writes gorgeous verses, and whose immature voice sings ancient stories?

For now, I'm still not satisfied. Overflowing hearts always look for an opportunity to take off or roar, and this opportunity often looms but never comes near. Driven by reality, bound by pressure, silently writing the absurdity of the years but always unable to express them precisely. Become sharp, sensitive, extreme, conceited. Sometimes I feel lost, sometimes I forget where I am, sometimes I torture myself why I live in this world, and sometimes I feel deeply tired of life. Although he was not the little girl who hid when he saw the living person, he was still a immature child. Because of these troubles, it is undoubtedly a cocoon to bind oneself.

See, we always think that we have gone through the ups and downs of life, but recording it is just a piece of nonsense. Look, when we are fantasizing, reality is light and fluttering, and when we are immersed, sighing the heaviness of the facts. But it was too late, and by the time we felt the depths of the years, we were long gone. Just like some people, who used to be our confidants, who are our companions day and night, and now, who remember that warm hands were held tightly together, in the midst of great calamities, or happiness, because of each other's company and more meaningful.

The days go on. There is still a pass to the future in hand, and giving up is still a distant thing. So, in the past, goodbye. Even if there is no reluctance, it is not enough to resist the helplessness of a "goodbye". I plucked up the courage to tell you how much I missed those who had scattered, how much I missed those who had been lost, how I missed those barren years. I am grateful to those who have walked through my life, and I hope that you will forgive me for leaving, and people are often helpless when faced with many choices.

And now I have indeed spent all the courage to face such a choice, black or white? Or both? Obviously, I chose to move forward. People are always faced with some hopeless choices.

So, like a flower of youth, allow me to bury you. After a few years, although I don't know if I can clearly remember your outline, I must remember that your world, I have come. Enough is enough.

Goodbye, old days. I love you.

Image source network, invasion and deletion

author

Pseudonym: Years silent. A shadow wandering in the world, recording the bits and pieces of life with ordinary words, trying to find a soul of its own, watching the sun rise and set, the tide rising and falling.

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