The white dove in the dream

There will always be some strange dreams coming into my world.

After the age of six, I always had a dream, holding a newborn white pigeon in my hand.

It's fragile and beautiful.

And I, I'm very excited.

Suddenly, the world turned gray, and there was a dog barking in the distance. The sound seemed to echo in all directions. The little white pigeon seemed to be so frightened that it flapped its little wings and trembled incessantly, trying to fly away, but unable to do anything.

Unconsciously, my eyes began to fog, as if a hand appeared in front of my eyes, and when I woke up, the white pigeon had disappeared into my hand.

Stunned and panicked, panic surrounded me.

"Little White Pigeon..."

I kept screaming and calling, tears slid down the corners of my eyes, deepening my tear trough little by little.

The white dove vanished, and I seemed to be walking in the darkness, how absurd and ridiculous the world was. My eyes lost their whiteness, there was no excess emotion, and my body was completely shrouded in gray and black.

My mother said that my eyes were blinded by the devil, and perhaps I should call a godmother to wake up my soul.

Oh, how crazy, ridiculous, like this world.

Am I normal now? Has my soul been swallowed up by darkness?

The muddy, like a soul returning to nowhere.

I sank my heart into darkness and left it to the devil.

Do I want to wake up? Of course!

However, I did not find my white pigeon. Maybe it's still my white pigeon?

Are there many poor little white pigeons?

When I was six years old, I thought there was only one white pigeon under the sky, and one white pigeon that belonged to me.

But in fact, as I got older, I found that even in close proximity, there were many fates like little white pigeons.

It was just that at that time, I was indifferent, half squinting, unable to see, and did not want to have extra concern for my surroundings.

Like a person who has doubts about everything around him, he begins to ask himself countless times:

Is the world real?

Maybe we came into this world to endure this boundless suffering?

Step by step, put on the armor, until our hearts are also wrapped in layers, can we be indestructible?

To be able to qualify to be said strong?

Later, I dreamed that I was a big white dove, flying freely in the sky.

I was carefree, because there was nothing in my head, it was small, only the little white pigeon I was looking for.

For as long as I can remember, I've been flying. One day, I was passing by a house, and when I stopped on one of the eaves, I heard a grunting sound not far away, what appeared to be the sound of pigeons?

My little head began to become chaotic, and like countless times began to fantasize, is it my little white pigeon? I began to hesitate and timid again, should I look at it again?

Finally I, having made up my mind, plunged my head into the house, and saw a pigeon basket, a white pigeon that was only slightly smaller than me, standing there, next to it were several large, much larger gray pigeons than me.

At this time, I finally opened my eyes, which had been half squinting for a long time.

Suddenly, a drop of red passed in my eyes.

That's right! It, the figure of combing feathers, is so similar to me, so familiar, a little red on the forehead, isn't it my little white pigeon?

I couldn't help but want to fly in, take a look at it, and ask, has it had a good time after all these years?

But I hesitated, because it was shiny and slippery, healthy, so spirited, standing in the middle of a flock of gray pigeons, being cared for by airtight protectors.

Compared with me, I guess it is not good.

After so many years, the little white pigeon has long ceased to be the fragile one that even I can't protect myself, and I am no longer the original me.

My tears were uncontrollable, squeezed out of bean-sized eyes, and landed on the eaves, making a crackling sound.

Two large grey pigeons were lured out

"What are you doing here"

One of the big grey pigeons asked

"……"

I opened my mouth, but I didn't make a sound, and after a long silence, my voice seemed to be unaccustomed to normal communication.

Yes, I am a strange stray pigeon in the eyes of others.

My white, smooth feathers had become dirty and gray.

Looking at the little white pigeon sticking its head out, it seemed to want to come out and take a look.

I looked at it deeply, said nothing, and flew away in a daze...