Lost in the 80S

A rural child walks into the university campus with longing, and then enters the society in chaos, with expectations, helplessness, hope, loss, hope in confusion, confusion in hope, misfortune and luck. The path of rural children born in the 1980s may be more ordinary, fighting for the future, growing in friendship and family, and worrying about love. Many past stories have been forgotten, time has diluted the footprints of the years, what is left or forgotten is what I have experienced, too many comments are loneliness that passes with the wind, the vows did not create much sweetness, but the reality has severely damaged the once full passion. Today I mustered up the courage to write down my story, hoping to bring this unsatisfactory end to the past, hoping to start over and look forward to a new life. I thought that holding on to what I had now was everything, and that getting ahead was a matter of temporary sacrifice in exchange for a lifetime of glory. I was wrong. The double blow of marriage and career made me so embarrassed. The confidence and arrogance I once had completely withered away, just like the speed of an epiphyllum, but no one left an eternal fragrance. I don't know where the future will be, and I suddenly feel so confused and helpless. Today, many years later, I miss the beauty of college, everyone who once appeared in my life during that period, and every unforgettable memory. After the divorce, my career also came to an end. I was filled with decadence, and there were always memories floating over the city. So I chose to leave in a cowardly way, and returned to a small town near my hometown. The passing years were scarred, and I didn't want to think too much about it. I just imagined that I could have a love of my own in this cozy town sooner, and find a girl who was willing to accompany me sooner. I was neither a good boy nor a good man, but I had a sincere heart. It is not because of loneliness that I want to love, but because I know how to desire and get a destination of my own. In the flowery season, everyone has a past story. It is always difficult to start. Maybe the more sincere the expectation, the longer the wait. But I am willing to wait for my persistence and my love, waiting for the spring to bloom. Life may be composed of several small stories, but the big stories are just more or less different experiences in life. I use my own pen to record bits and pieces of the past. There may be many plots and characters that I need to deal with for various reasons, but most of them come from my real life experiences. I hope that everyone passing by can leave your precious footprints so that you can have the courage to continue. I hope you will not hesitate to give me advice.