Quietly, quietly, I stand alone on the other shore, gazing at the path I came from, the uneven, uneven footprints stretching across the ground. I've succeeded, failed, laughed, cried, loved, and suffered—everything. Time has carried it all away. "
The other shore flower blooms"—a phrase I recently came across and really like. I don't know why I like it, or why it gives me a sense of calm. But I just want to stand on the other shore, indifferently watching the path I came from, watching myself in silent melancholy or unrestrained madness. I'm still an extreme person; I can be so quiet I feel suffocated, and so crazy I forget myself.
Lately, life has been very uneventful, so uneventful that I can stay up late reading "Life is Like a Summer Flower," watching He Feiwu stumble and fall along the way. "When longing ferments, it's an icy blue scent with a pH less than seven." Reading this sentence made me feel very sad, yes, very sad. But I no longer have the ability to imagine that scene. I'm almost forgetting that familiar feeling; I dare not think about it, I'm not even qualified to think about it. So I was still frantically scribbling away in my "Ideological Cultivation" class. No story, yet the pen kept scribbling.
In the reading room, I don't know why I suddenly wanted to write a story, a nonsensical one. I thought about someone I'd met, but as I started writing, I suddenly forgot their name, couldn't remember their face. Maybe it was a rebellious face, maybe a weathered face, maybe there were no maybes, because they were ultimately forgotten. So in the end, I just stared blankly at the paper for an entire afternoon.
Passing by Little Silver Lake, seeing couples nestled in wicker chairs, I thought a lot. What's wrong with love in university? Maybe I won't learn for a long time, because being alone for too long becomes addictive. Too lazy to let others into my life, and I don't know how to maintain love. I've seen many people get together, break up, cry, get scared, become numb.
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