The world is full of chaos and change, the joy of the previous moment may become the sadness of the next. However, no one wants to explain all this, to interpret sadness or happiness. Everything has its own place, but it seems to be waiting for its own answer. Is everyone's world different? Yes. Memory is like a node floating in the mind, each person has a different way to connect and feel, completing their own sublimation. The trigger is also different. Sometimes the connection method is the same, but the pointed object is different. Sometimes the connection method is different, but the pointed object is the same. Strangers don't know what the person in front of them is thinking. They don't know that they are thinking the same thing, pointing at the same thing. They are of opposite sex, they became lovers. If they are of the same sex, then they meet a rare soulmate. Through thousands of miles, my heart is revealed to you, I dare not hide, never cover up, afraid of being seen through, laughed at enough. Eye yearning, hand point, heart naturally understand. If it is really fate, why so surprised? Walking on the road, thinking in mind. The moonlit night is really charming. Unfortunately, it's winter. In summer, it would be more fun, at least not half dead from cold. Such a big moon, such a big pear, such a big apple. So bright stars, so bright eyes. The edge of the sky is dimly bright, I think, if I go there, it should be a lifetime. This is like some kind of reason! I am like the person who uploads images with equipment, only a few minutes of uploading for things shot over several months. People who see comment, watching with loved ones, should be no regret in life. However, these few minutes condensation is obtained by lonely travelers over several months. He simply thinks, is the scenery beautiful? It shouldn't be. The memory nodes are very active. The magnificent buildings are built perfectly. But this is not a place to live. All travelers have a starting point, what triggers him to leave? No matter how magnificent the building is, it's just a sigh in heart, can't hold the traveler's steps. Maybe left home forever, maybe on the way home. Maybe has his own purpose, maybe showing off, the trip is forced, but if he can find traces of beauty or guidance, he will feel beautiful. Wanting to continue walking. There is a possibility to go home, but still walking out of habit. Sometimes stop, amazed by the image that coincides with memory. You would say, it's so alike, so beautiful. Endless journey gives you greater possibilities to encounter these possibilities. The more similar, the more need to distinguish. The more unforgettable. You tell that person, because of you, but what you think about is not you. Is this the purpose of the trip? It seems that traveling doesn't need much purpose. Thinking in heart, this is different from going home, those people are interesting! But then again, no matter what, even without purpose, don't want to waste this beautiful life. Sadness occupies the heart, but still can take happy steps. Pick up the camera, camcorder in hand. Continue your lonely journey. Bring natural beauty to others, enjoy the indescribable feelings oneself. Or life, or love, or loneliness. Some people like to stay, some people like to keep moving, when the two parties argue, you jump out," The pause during movement is a beautiful beginning. The walk after staying is full of unknowns. Staying or walking, itself shouldn't be argued. Those who always want to dominate other people's thoughts, funny, but lovely. Because I also want, to encounter an event that makes me stay. Why do people who like to walk do so? Thinking, campus all-round genius, is a trait of many people, go with the flow. Like dialectics, but dislike arguing." As I walk, I encounter a lot of things. I discover myself. Therefore, a lot of things are changing me, I'm a mess. But I gradually learn to turn them into what I need. Like the camera in my hand, taking pictures I need, I should record the beauty or filth or happiness or sadness. Stick to yourself. Be yourself, don't go against your heart. Dare to walk around again, even if I don't know when I'll go home. Occasionally remember a few sentences. My wandering everywhere, it used to be so short. Without farewell, I embarked on the road of walking. Wandering, I can no longer measure your length, I don't know when I will stop. Journey. I understand the flower's words, the flower says the grass's goal is her. I once thought about cicada chirping under the tree, eventually swallowing saliva. I can't be literary, the cicada was caught by me and played with. I understand why songs are always so short, because people like to listen. The trumpet vine's theater must be punctual. The night-blooming cereus' theater, beauty carries sorrow. Am I traveling? My life is questioned! Few travelers in my journey, they said I wouldn't be able to continue. I learned to obey. The burdock on the rabbit, thus falls. I take root, sprout. Always say wind will exercise me, Wind makes me grow. Where was I sent? Originally sand in the wind. Don't want to bloom, can't bloom either. Sand beats the face painfully, how many people therefore sleep forever underground. Development is good, education is good, college entrance examination is good. Why is there always so much bad stuff mixed in. I need to stand firm, My roots down, back to that tree. No one looks at the ground. I am delighted, I hear cicada chirping, I circle around the trumpet vine. I ask him when the sky will brighten, I will walk towards her well. My roots spread, I don't move, this is my other travel. I can break through the soil in any location, but I'm afraid of being pulled out. Funny? Trumpet vine, big horn, that person has come already. Turn into burdock, stick to the new life. Expectation, prayer. Happiness is a hard-to-bloom flower. But overnight it becomes a sea of flowers.
This article is excerpted from: Xia Hua Literature Network