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Depression-type Bubbles 2
墨書 Inktalez
He has never admitted that the hidden emotion is love.
It's as if loving me is an illegal thing, unable to be openly declared.
My words are harsh, sharp as a knife, cutting into his heart until it bleeds, yet he still bows his head under my coercion, sacrificing his pride for the sake of pitiful love.
At that time, I also lost interest, but in fact, I never had much interest to begin with. I am an excellent straight man. As long as I have a little interest, I can easily show a lot of enthusiasm. If I really have a lot of interest, I can immediately perform at a high level, with one point left for pretending to be real.
For most people, only tangible reality is perfect.
However, for me, imperfection is very real, imperfection is perfection. Sometimes, I feel sad like a stranded fish, occasionally longing for the ocean, and most of the time hoping someone will pick me up and make a fish tank for me. Emotions are always inexplicable, making people puzzled.
However, do the fish in the fish tank really miss the deep blue ocean? Or would the fish from the ocean be content in the fish tank?
I am a thousand times more selfish than I imagined, despite being fully aware of my own perverse tastes and emotional defects.
The ideal love should be a miracle that cannot be matched by the gathering of all the energy in the world, no, I should say the entire Earth, the entire Milky Way, and the entire universe - that is the magic that only love can possess. "Not the past, not the future, just the present moment when we meet." For me, for me, for me, there is only this moment forever!
Flowers and plants should also grow wild according to their own ideals, barbarically reaching upwards. Why should everyone love roses, sunflowers, and tulips? They all have such beautiful names that make people feel good at first hearing. Overall, the world is bright, just as history as a whole is a spiral of ascension.
But I would rather be a stubborn little depression, a shadow outside the lonely time, the emerald moss in the damp place of the stone, I have my own vision and hope.
I don't want my ideals to be changed by anyone.
Spring breeze, spring breeze, always full of vitality.
But now, it is midsummer, just as there are countless ocean sons in a person's life, there are also countless encounters, old and new. Where is the simplicity in the changing relationships?
The more vivid the memories, the more painful they are. A person who is immersed in memories cannot talk about the future. The past is only the past, and the past has its irreplaceable significance, but every day is the present, so only the present is worth it.
Don't shed too many tears for the past, because you have to believe that there will be a better sun, a gentler wind, brighter stars, moon, and leaves tomorrow.
The person who most needs to reconcile is oneself. I don't want to preach to myself, but I always end up doing so. While blow-drying my hair, a few strands accidentally got caught in the hairdryer, and the burnt smell of protein made me dizzy. After a difficult rescue, all I got was a tangled and knotty "memory rope."
The unexpected events in life are like bugs in a game.
But can I become the main character of the game?
Does that mean only the main character's story has meaning?
I started writing a group portrait, I want more diverse perspectives, more themes. In the story, different characters have completely different life crossroads. I want to open a teahouse and a hotel in the right place. I can live on the highest mountain peak just to mark the trace of a cloud. It seems that I have also been at countless crossroads in the story, and have taken countless forbidden paths in reality.
What's so funny about making a plate of dumplings to go with vinegar? As long as the vinegar is fresh enough, why not?
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