There is a child living in everyone’s heart. He may be called Han Fei, or Chen Ge.
I lay on the train in April, looking at the wind outside the window, the world is gentle and bright.
The swallows return, the spring is warm and the flowers are blooming, all the beauty is stored in the eyes, but the body is slowly rotting.
Buried in the dirt, buried under the fallen leaves of last winter, or repeating the daily repetition.
They call it growing up, they think it is maturity, they say that life likes to be the same, and stability is the greatest happiness.
They always think a lot, they live a stable and happy life, they say I look like a freak out of place.
I should grow up, accept my fate, and live like them, instead of being the fish jumping out of the water, the sheep that doesn’t fit in, the star that can’t even illuminate itself.
Some people say that life is as bitter as a song. I hum the song and walk forward fiercely with a solitary courage.
I just want to live like a firework, blooming in the night sky for a moment in my life, I will not regret it, and I will not bow my head.
I know they think I’m naive, even think I’m a lunatic, I smiled and watched them laugh at me, I ran wildly in the snow in winter, danced in the fallen leaves in autumn, sang loudly in spring, and looked up at me in summer galaxy.
Such a lunatic suddenly lost his shadow one day.
There are ten thousand voices ringing in his ears, saying that he should grow up, that he should stop writing those ridiculous nonsense.
Yeah, everyone thinks he’s writing horror stories, only he thinks he’s writing childish fairy tales.
His story is actually as naive and ridiculous as he is. That day he tore up all the manuscripts and sat in front of himself.
He looked at his face, he saw his eyes, he wanted to ask him, what’s wrong with you?
Why do you cry in a familiar room? Why grow white hair but still look like a child? Why are you always naive? Why do you always have illusions, thinking that the world will give you a little gift and reward?
You fall in the mud again and again, and it’s not the beauty that pulls you up, it’s obviously yourself, you get up little by little, with a muddy smile, like a **** fool.
You look at the flowers in your arms and smell the flowers in your dreams.
You refused the medicine prescribed by the doctor and picked up the wine full of moonlight. You were so drunk that you clutched your heart and burst into tears.
I’m really in pain, I don’t know how to put it, I can’t see, I’m lost, I’m lost again, I can’t find my way back, I’m trying my best to curl up, I’m trying so hard to straighten myself with every finger, holding his own hand.
You are clearly alive, but why are you crying all of a sudden?
The waiter handed over the tissues, his worried eyes scared me, the pure kindness was a bit heavy, I avoided his eyes and looked at his six-year-old child.
The child will grow up one day, but I don’t want him to feel that growing up is a terrible thing.
I’m smiling like I always do, all muddy, like a **** idiot.
The guests at the next table sat across from me, raised their beers, and lightly clinked glasses.
I said thank you in a low voice, I seem to like thank you very much, maybe on the day I die, when the **** of death wields his scythe, I will also say thank you gently and politely.
There are crowds of people, coming and going, in a strange city, I lie on the table.
Recently, my head always hurts. I always dream that I go back to the yard of my grandma’s house, sit on a chair, and look at the stars above my head.
It seems that I haven’t seen the stars for a long time.
I seem to have drank a lot of wine, I don’t know what I wrote, nonsense, Bo Jun smiled
(End of this chapter)
/p