Grey shrouded the city.
In a city like this, don't expect to see dazzling white shirts and verdant wheat fields. It didn't mean anything. Youth doesn't mean anything.
Youth is never pure, fragrant, and alive. Youth can be filth, destruction, cruelty, and death. The so-called youth is a stage you have to go through. You must go through it, just as you must encounter the valley of the shadow of death.
Watching this film called "The Cardamom Age" at a film festival many years ago, I was spoiled by the endless filth and strong malice in it. I've never had a youth movie that made me feel like throwing up. Although there is a blue sky, green wheat waves, the boy in white is listening to the CD, and the voice floating in the sky. Such bright shades make me feel thin air. Later, the boy in white was coerced into sending the girl he liked to help him. The girl threw the money he earned to him, kicked the money, and kicked him. The girl washed herself, and the broken feeling in her heart could not be recovered no matter what.
I hate violence, and I hate even more cowardly accepting abuse, like letting a white shirt soak in the mire. Although the fragile white cannot escape the fate of being obliterated in the city with the gray floor, it is not given up like this. Still want to see the white watcher in the wheat field, see the white kite clipping the sky, stay away from the hustle and bustle, stubborn and decisive.
And myself, to resist grey, I put on black. To hide my sadness, I used pushpins to hold the corners of my mouth up.
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