Just now, coming out of the courtyard of the county party committee, the square opposite and the side of the road have been sparkled, brilliant, and the gate reads: I wish the people of the county a happy new year.
I have worked and lived in this compound for many years, and I have full and inseparable memories, but from now on, I can no longer go in and out as freely as I used to, and when I leave here, this place becomes a city that cannot be returned.
When I look back, I unconsciously think of the people in my life who have been here with me, although the world has long been scattered, but it is precisely because of them that I am more obsessed and more frequent, as Van Gogh wrote in his letter to Theo: "I walk breathlessly with my passion, my indifference, my fury, my gentleness, and the unreasonable belief in love." I stammered and said to you, what's your name? It started with what to call you, and later, there was everything. "I had a similar beginning, only later, but nothing.
Yes, the years have indeed blurred the faces of some people, and time has long changed this compound from a "signified" that makes me breathless to a calm "signifier", but in the moment I looked back just now, seeing the youth I had worked so hard that I was still moved to cry.
