There is always a road ahead, but sometimes it is smooth and sometimes muddy.
Often encounter forks, look at both sides, and choose the side with lush flowers and plants to continue walking.
Everything is accidental.
At the beginning, I was very apprehensive about this choice, as if I chose to turn left or right, how different my life would be.
Later, when there were more choices, I got used to it.
[Their flight is sometimes seen displaced in the night sky. ]
If you walk along the pulse of light, you will have the illusion of bright lights at night.
Surrounded by all kinds of insects, you will feel an inexplicable sense of security when walking on the night road. Although they may not feel me, but simply exist and live unconsciously, talking to them never gets an answer.
Just an indifferent presence.
It may be endless darkness at first, and when the second eyelid is closed, you can even hear the thin and clear sound as the darkness slowly invades. But as long as you wait, you will see countless tiny creatures floating around, the translucent body, the light that converges little by little, the moon is white and warm.
Occasionally, a small group of light flew straight into the black void, circling, flickering and disappearing, like moonlit stars.
Even if you stretch out your hand, you can't catch anything.
[That is the spring mountains and rivers full of cherry blossoms. ]
I remember every face I spoke to.
As a bug master, you must have a good memory.
Those people have the same plain and similar face, but have different eyes and expressions.
Every time I look at them, I have a strong sense of being out of place with them.
Not just because of the insect master profession itself.
Those people always have certain obsessions and beliefs in their hearts that support their lives.
I have seen too many wanderers, and when I talk about my hometown, I always burst into tears. It seems that in everyone's life, there is a mountain or a river, a smiling face, and a reason to cry.
And me, where is my obsession?
I think, probably not.
I have always just lived quietly. No one tried to come into my life, alone, alone but free.
It's just that when passing a certain mountain or a certain river, I can't help thinking, here, who will be the deepest and farthest concern in the dream. Also, who will appear in his dream, so that when he wakes up, he finds that he is already bursting with tears.
[Even in the sun, the darkness of the void can be seen. ]
I don't remember how the left eye became empty, or it's been like this since I remembered it.
There is always a kind of tragic indifference when I mention it to others occasionally.
He refused to put on artificial eyes, just covered it with his hair and started walking around. Sometimes the wind blows, and the flowing air passes through the hair into the hollow eye sockets, and there is a refreshing pleasure.
It was a missing piece of memory that recorded my origin.
I just remember that in the dark, there was a hoarse and warm voice that kept ringing in her ears, she said, child, live on, think of a name, and when you escape from here, create a memory that belongs to it.
When the sun is shining, you can feel the slight scorching under your eyes just by looking up.
In fact, it is meaningless to find it or not.
Most of that missing memory has merged into the torrent of light pulses, and is immortal.
[Some things have really never been understood. ]
Sometimes their eyes suddenly flash. There are also children who pass by and point to the wooden box innocently and say, "You are so happy, you can fit your entire home with just one box."
And what home is, I don't know very well.
It's just that there is nowhere to go back. As a travel bug master, this is a kind of luck, but also a disability.
But never thought to stop. Although poor and stable life, I have been yearning.
Therefore, it is understandable that their irrational attachments are, and why they are always unable to let go of the dead past. Even right in front of me, with a smile and no regrets, I choose to give up, leave, or die. Powerless.
At this time, there is always a pain in the empty eyes.
The story has been read too much, but it has never been numb.
[There is a traveler who writes a letter to Dusk. ]
came to an abrupt end.
(After thinking about it for a long time, I decided to post it, although strictly speaking, it is not a comment, it can only be regarded as a fan...)
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