Coincidentally, just after I finished writing this story, I met someone,
After that, I couldn't write any stories for nearly a year. I wandered around every corner of the city every day. I wrote poems I had never written for more than half a year. I met a bunch of crazy people who wrote poems and discovered some beautiful things in the world.
When I came back from the Spring Festival holiday this year, I felt inexplicably irritable. I vaguely felt that poetry was about to go into exile and people were about to leave. Things that should have been forgotten long ago would eventually be forgotten. It was inevitable to be reluctant to leave.
When I opened this story again, it turned out that what I wrote was exactly what I wanted.
Maybe some greed is a grudge that cannot be realized or escaped, and some people must encounter a disaster that will be dispelled sooner or later.
I can't write stories, and people who can write stories don't just imagine a protagonist.
I am still writing because I still have something to say.
Everything you want to say is in this fictional story, have you seen it?
Conception: