The origin of this story originated from a reply to a comment on a song in 2012. I wrote the first half of the story at that age when I was ignorant of the world. After graduation, I worked and traveled around the world for four years. Finally, I had some new ideas to sort out the heavy past. I feel guilty for them in the story. I was so irresponsible and kept letting them stand in the distance of nothingness and watch this indifferent world.
This is something that consumes time and energy. During the days of traveling in Beijing, I sat on the roof of the youth hostel and made revisions every night. The past was turbulent, reminding me when it would come to an end - their stories seemed to be no longer under my control from a certain moment, and the individual's destiny had already decided its direction. Of course, it's hard to say how difficult it is to find inner peace in the reckless torrent of life. Just like most of us, sinking into the nine-to-five job and being forced to face many unexpected plots, the only thought still seems luxurious and redundant.
Dali. I mentioned this place in the story. Among the cities I have walked through, the one I want to go back to the most is Dali. It means a lot to me. Even if I escape that city far enough, so long that I seem to have forgotten that I spent a long time there. There is no story, I am just a pedestrian, passing by and stopping to take a look, I still believe that one day I will come back. Just like the migratory birds returning home after winter, the stars streaking through the night sky and shining brightly, the lights on the open road, the faces in the darkness, the sails in the sea, the lighthouse on the island, the white mist rising in the morning, and the letters with unknown endings. I left and came from afar.