Time Flies, and I Can't Resist the Passing Years

I want to be a cat in my next life. They say cats are born with a pair of yin and yang eyes. I also want to have those eyes to see the world clearly. Occasionally, the cat can lazily stretch its legs warmed by the sun, and occasionally crawl into the owner's arms to act coquettishly. This life will be peaceful and peaceful. I like to watch the pen tip rotating and sliding on pure white paper, and listen to the rustling sound of writing, even though the handwriting is ugly and even though the pen in my hand trembles when I pick it up. I think everyone has a story of their own, big or small, sad or happy. I think we all have someone we love or are loved by. I think this is youth, the years that flow away in writing. I like to look at the sky, watching the clouds mischievously appearing like orchids under the blue sky. I like to read novels, those bizarre stories, like the thrilling words written by a candy, like the fleeting years written by Guo Jingming. Those green years that have passed by can be remembered as soon as you close your eyes, like gold mixed in the sand. I remember what Zhang Ailing said in "Red Roses and White Roses": If you marry a red rose, over time, the red one will become a smear of mosquito blood on the wall, and the white one will become the moonlight in front of your bed. If you marry a white rose, the white one will become a grain of rice sticky on your clothes, and the red one will become a cinnabar mole on your heart. In my world, I may be the white rose whose vermillion turns into sticky rice, or the red rose which turns into mosquito blood, but after all, I have only been here, and I can only commemorate and miss it.