grandfather said: It's a big park, and we have plenty of time.
This kind of time probably only exists before the graduation of junior high school. At the end of each grade exam, use the hours before sunset. Splurge well. In those walled parks. I still miss every plant and tree, every inch of the wall, and the big iron gate that locks at night. These walls and iron gates add to the mystery of the park, and because of this, when I have the time to squander, I feel it is an honor and a privilege, like a special reward after a period of intense study. The adults are still in class, the students of other grades are still in class, and the naughty boys are either going to exercise or entering the game room of the Internet cafe.
I also remember the irregularly shaped lakes and the winding paths lined with sturdy tall trees that make it impossible to cross. So these are the mysteries of this park, the park is inviting you into its privacy, into its history, and into a journey of exploration. You can't find a shortcut. You have to walk along the crooked bank of the lake and the little trails. You can't surpass the thick fence of trees, trees that were there longer than my own existence. So you gotta spend a lot of time there, hours and hours of time. So you have to build a relationship with the park,
In those years, I had a long story.
I also had the best parks in my hometown, and plenty of time.
Now the parks are dead, the walls being taken down, the trees being slaughtered, the lakes being filled to get rid of the insects.
The parks are dead, so are my thoughts, thoughts on my teenage years.
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