Swinging on the swing,
lost
Whose time has passed.
In a Western-style castle,
The prince has his hands all over the world for her,
It is a myth that has been gathering dust at the bottom of the box for many years.
The night is still young, the paper is yellowing,
In the youth folded into poetry,
The lonely swing in her hand.
Swaying,
Dancing with the wind,
Which year's empty cares have been commemorated...
——"Paper Swing"
This article about our post-graduation experiences of those born in the 1980s may be a bit exaggerated, but it reflects our helplessness towards society and life as truly as possible. Our love, our destiny, is like a paper swing, it cannot withstand a breeze and can only swing with it.
This article will not contain too many gorgeous words, but will use the simplest and most popular words to record a corner of youth. Maybe "my" story is ordinary, maybe "my" experiences are rich and colorful, but they are just a glimpse of the youth born in the 1980s. Each of us is the protagonist in our own story.
I only use this article to find the resonance of all ordinary people who are lost in their youth.