When I am twenty years old, I think of my ten-year-old self with a tolerant mood. Although most of the memories are vague and mixed with too many vague imaginations, they are still beautiful enough that I can recall them with a smile. Pure and simple happiness.
When I was thirty, I thought of my twenty-year-old self with some pity. For the first time, I completely believed in something that I had been vaguely disdainful of before. I was enlightened by the betrayal of my youth, but after all, I was still young. Even sadness can be overwhelming. I gritted my teeth and started over.
But I don't want to think about how I will remember myself now when I am forty years old.
Nothing has been accomplished and I am exhausted.
Intention: