Go to Liberty Island and Find Paradise Without Any Worries

About This Novel

When I open the window late at night, the Milky Way is leaning across the roof, like a spoonful of broken silver that someone accidentally spilled. Suddenly I remembered that you and I are both made of stardust - carbon comes from dying stars, iron comes from the embers of white dwarfs, and the salt in our blood may have tidal waves in some ancient ocean. In such a universe, where do we need to look up? It clearly lives deep in our bones. Every heartbeat is the echo of the explosion of a supernova hundreds of millions of years ago; every breath is swallowing oxygen that existed in the dinosaur era. The lines on my palm are poems written by gravity and chaos on a microscopic scale; and when you blink, dust from the Oort cloud gently settles in the wind that flutters your eyelashes. All grand narratives ultimately end up in such concrete flesh and blood. The so-called "exploring the universe" is nothing more than stardust that has been wandering for tens of billions of years and is beginning to learn to recognize its own shape. Just like at this moment, I am standing on this tiny piece of floating soil on the earth, but I feel that the entire expanding starry sky has become quiet, curling up into a warm darkness in my chest. There is the primordial fireball that has not yet cooled down, the slow rotation of the nebula, and the gentle trembling of a life at its own origin. The stars outside the window continued to surge. I know that when this body is finally returned to dust, those carbon atoms will start a new journey-perhaps becoming the thorns of roses, the mud in the rain, or the sparkle in the eyes of a future child. The universe is never in a hurry, it just lends us this body of stardust to complete a brief and precious gaze.

You Might Also Like

Reborn Female General

Qianshan Tea Guest

1.3M9.6