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Meet in the crowd.
墨書 Inktalez
The morning after running ten kilometers, I clearly felt a sense of pain as if I had survived a disaster. Even though my knees were still quietly complaining due to my occasional madness, my calves were trembling with soreness.
But perhaps this is the true face of life. I have never liked sports, detest exercise, dislike math, hate numbers, and in general, there are too many things in the universe that I am dissatisfied with—except for one good quality: I am brave enough to try and happy to go crazy. I deliberately passed by a "last survivor" goose, if you can call it passing by if it was planned for a long time. It flapped its powerful black wings and then uniformly and equally emitted an unpleasant and solemn sound to all passersby.
"Fish also sleep, and when they sleep, they don't eat." With two-thirds of a bag of fish food in hand and dragging along the long night, I strolled to the edge of the pond. The group of foolish fish were all fast asleep with their eyes wide open, while only the big goose continued to honk from time to time. Friends were all battling through the night, with assignments, work, and looming deadlines, but only I could casually lead the myriad stars out for a walk and slip away to attend the moon's banquet.
It's really nice to live in a world like this.
I suddenly realized that I wasn't actually born into this world for the first time, so I must have passed by this goose countless times during my morning runs. I remember there used to be a group of black swans in the pond.
"The geese in the pond? They've all flown away. Once their wings grew, the security guards couldn't catch them, even after chasing for 3 kilometers. The first one to fly away was the one that had been isolated by the other geese." "Geese can be isolated too?" "Humans are animals after all, so geese must be the same." "Then why is this one still here? Doesn't it fly?" "Of course it flies, but it was caught, had its wings clipped after they grew, and now it can't fly."
The black swan is a social animal, usually found in pairs or groups, rarely seen alone.
"Cut off the wings, they will always grow back, but I hope they don't remember to cut off the new wings... This goose can already communicate with duck." - "Isn't this an extra gain?" I can hardly hold the phone with both hands, it's really torturing, a modern smartphone is almost bigger than a whole adult female hand. Speaking of hands, I put down the phone, temporarily forgetting the chat box, ignoring the frequent message flashes. Suddenly I remembered: hands can also be like a pair of wings, I really want to lend them to it.
My friends who are far away from me, separated by a distant journey, a long river, and moonlight, are used to me losing contact after a few words. No need to worry for an hour or two, after all, there's no need to lay the groundwork for seeking life or death. "You tell me you want to die, then you still need to live well." Yes, yes, yes, I silently scream, there has always been a desire in my heart that is waiting to sprout—no, more directly, it is a normal person's desire for life.
In the days to come, I laughed a lot. No matter what I was doing or what I was going to do next, that thing kept lingering in my mind—does the world really have a divine will?
When eating beef noodles, I wondered if God would like noodles? Of course, I don't know what God likes to eat. In stories, Chinese gods are said to dine on dew and feast on the glow of the sunset, with elegant manners. But if we must say they look down on earthly food, the Kitchen God, worshipped in every household, enjoys sugared melon seeds every year without finding them too sweet. Approachable, gods are also like humans.
By the same token, it can be inferred that gods certainly wouldn't dislike scrambled eggs with tomatoes, steamed egg with minced meat, salted duck egg stewed with chicken, and boiled eggs, but they may not necessarily like them either.
I am just one person, how can I understand God? These are all just assumptions that people make.
It's like this: children born blind cannot imagine the color of a flower. Medical research has shown that humans have a biological instinct for perception, so it is not entirely impossible to imagine. However, I personally have serious doubts about this, even though a blind person can feel the soft shape of a flower through touch - but they have never seen a real flower with their own eyes, so how can they accurately envision its bright colors in their mind?
Accurate, I embrace life infinitely because I want to give life an accurate definition. I go to class every day. When I'm not on my way to class, I'm at the end of a crazy river questioning Confucius: "The dead are like this, so why haven't I passed away yet?"
"What is your impression of ancient Greece?" I am interested in this word cloud generated by big data, which includes the origins of civilization, mythology, divine authority, art, and philosophy. It also details sculptures, architecture, pottery, and a long list of names including Socrates and Plato.
My mind is filled with yogurt, and with a shake, the popular slogan "Greek yogurt, the secret of longevity village" flashes before my eyes. I have lost the ability to answer questions like this. The door has a butterfly on it, spinning around, and my friends laugh at me for entering the world of elves. The rain in Chun'an never stops, sometimes sunny, sometimes rainy, just like the ever-changing moods of ordinary people. For the first time, I feel that the ordinary and ubiquitous green is truly a good adjective for mimicry. The low shrubs on campus are so green that they form a spring wave, exuding a long-lost freshness, deeply cherished and giving a sense of vitality.
Who remembers this is summer, how can there be such a cool and fresh air in summer? Summer is thick and bursting with thunderous rain, full of power and freedom. I remember Wang Wei's poem "After the New Rain in the Empty Mountains, the Weather Comes Late in Autumn." He rendered the atmosphere of early autumn, ethereal and lonely, with a faint hint of the cold scent of pine and cypress after the rain.
"We don't have empty mountains here, only distant mountains, new rain, and reluctantly, we have pond fish and silly ducks. Oh, there are no flat boats, but there is a goose." I habitually press countless spaces to separate. A teammate who I collaborate with suggested that this is a new era of sentence structure, but punctuation obviously serves the same purpose.
I like the space bar, it gives me an infinite expectation for the future. The next sentence, the next sentence. What is it? It is more profound than ellipsis and gentler than a comma. Selfish, so let others adapt to me, except for work, life should be free. Freedom is like a sail, something that my ideal ship cannot lack; freedom is the rational order of the stars, the stable rule of the moon, the iron law of the universe, and the only meaning worthy of affirmation in my life.
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