What is he?
It is the smallest blade of grass in the world, a grain of sand, a grain of dust, a stone on an arch bridge,
He can be everything small and ordinary in the world,
But it can't be the flowers blooming brightly in the sun, the towering trees, the mountains, the sea,
He is just himself and nothing.
But he wanted to be like the wind, galloping in the wilderness and on the coast,
Like a violent storm, disrupting everything in the world,
It burned like a blazing fire, lighting up half of the sky.
But he is nothing. He carefully maintains his small image without making any mistakes.
Expecting the world to see him is also a small form of "perfection";
Ridiculous, ridiculous, he cries, he laughs, he goes crazy,
Looking forward to another grass, another grain of sand, another dust to understand him, to understand him,
No, nothing.
He waited painfully for a gust of wind to appear in his barren life,
The thoughts that separated him, the surging emotions, confused and annihilated;
What happened next?
Later, there was no later, and he seemed to want nothing more.
Intention: Some people are born small, but they look forward to brilliance. Is it destruction or hope?