#Today's Headlines ##临沂头条 #
Once, I always liked to browse those "chicken soup for the soul", feeling that the real ironing posts written were like drilling into people's hearts and seeing through, just like chatting with confidants, where your heart will hurt, it will heal you wherever it is.
Sometimes, I don't understand, how can I be moved so easily? Because it's been too long, or has it been too much? After some self-pity, there will always be a quiet sigh, glad that his heart is still understood. But it is inevitable that it is a little sad, I don't know when to start, I need to rely on these "chicken soup" to soothe.
You my fairy tale
Later, I no longer indulge in these things, whether it is to escape or to deceive myself, and from the bottom of my heart, I feel that my emotions are swayed by the outside world. In the days when there is no time to go, who dares to let the heart that has no sustenance inexplicably lonely. Obviously, there is some concern, but I don't know where to feel at ease, I need a kind of dependence, but I never let it be easily revealed, maybe this is the helplessness of growth.
In a pluralistic society, anything is possible, and when you don't want to be left behind, you find that you are actually lagging behind this era for not a day or two. Rhythm is the most timely barometer today, there is no waiting for everything, it is too late for you to judge, you must decide in an instant, otherwise you will be either/or. Thinking that you would have to wait and see the changes in the outside world for a while and then draw conclusions; now, when your conclusion comes out, you may have been forced to say something else.
Looking back at the persistence that was once there, it is now a thing of the past. When the memories are still deep in the mud, the entanglement cannot be relaxed. The Internet has made the past humble, and this "humility" is not a judgment of values, but a height of life. We have paid so much, but we may have wasted more, and we never dare to ask "is it worth it" again, because asking ourselves is also a pain.
Without the carrier of chicken soup for the soul, is there still a place for our hearts to rely on? It is not only time and space that are condensed, but also a kind of anxiety in the heart.
This morning I saw a community to which they all belonged. For a common wish, they give silently, and they are all happy and willing. They have their own group, have their own public account, inadvertently, they will publish some of their own experience, this fragmented silhouette of life, no special processing, did not think about how to polish, natural, not carved. It is very plain to read, not sad, only to see open.
Is it the result of years, or is it the need of life? Those once thick and inseparable love affairs have become the afternoon sun in these fragments of time, drinking lightly.
Thank you for the years, thank you for these sudden touches. When the years can't carry sorrow, youth let me meet you. Maybe the autumn wind can take away the yellow leaves at that time, but it has not always thought of the wind.
There were too many expectations, and when I became the only one of happiness, I drew an end to my youth. Because there are too many, we all have our own choices; in that snowy world, you left me with the back of the down jacket.
Sometimes it hurts my heart, but I'm far from sadness; whenever the autumn wind blows, I may stand in the most beautiful scenery, but maybe only one person can read it.
I was surprised to see a group of friends in the community who portrayed his past as a fairy tale---- where did he come from with such courage? When I continued to look at it, I realized that there is no love for no reason, and there is no hatred for no reason. With the autumn wind and falling leaves, his sorrow flowed into a river.
I am very grateful to this friend, is the network what it is today, or is he the success of the internet? He dressed up other people's landscapes with his own haggardness, making the past a fairy tale, and I am not necessarily the only one who appreciates fairy tales.