It's Just a Flight

A tree cannot know a tree, even if their roots are implicitly connected. In fact, I don't know if this can be defined as a campus story. We are a group of people living both inside and outside the campus. The novel is divided into three clues and proceeds at the same time, with a montage technique, through narrative transitions in time and space, as if I am slowly telling the camera several love stories of mine in college, real, online, and imaginary. Sad, beautiful, painful. The end of the entire text is actually the beginning of the first paragraph, which talks about fate or reincarnation in youth. In fact, after all is said and done, it is still the so-called youth. This text writes about the wounds of a group of people. In this text, the pain in youth is peeled off one by one like scars. The story deliberately hides the sunshine, leaving only decadence, darkness, and sadness. Use extreme techniques to describe those moist moss in youth. And beautiful things are actually around us, very close and yet very far. This is youth. "She said, don't mind, don't you want to know our story? Let's start with the scars. Every scar on her body has a story, and she cruelly uncovers it one by one, blooming one by one like flowers. She boasted of her wounds, each of which was fertile soil from which roses dripping with blood grew. " However, although the article is all about scars, it also includes a lot of beautiful descriptions of scenery and expectations for love, so that the whole article is not too dark. It also creates an external and psychological contrast. Youth, "looks beautiful." I hardly read when writing. For example, in the past two years, because I don't want to affect my thinking too much. After finishing writing, I was sitting in a bar chatting and drinking with my friends, and while we were chatting and laughing, I heard a very familiar tune. Suddenly I remembered "The Sorrows of Young Werther", "The Dancing Girl of Izu", and "Norwegian Wood". Because I haven't read a book properly for a long time, these impressions were blurred in my mind, and then mixed together, and I seemed to have become a tree standing on the side of the city road with a street light above my head. Yes, that's what it feels like. It's just a flight.