Baby Diary

Whose youth is not lost

Do you still remember prescribed topics that elementary school essay never escapes? "Your dream!" Hey, how do you write it? doctor? teacher? Or police? First of all, let me tell you what I wrote then about being a doctor, noble and well paid. Just kidding, at that time I only wanted to cure my mother's skin disease, and I wanted to save more people. The most innocent and sincere.

Unfortunately, time has passed, and in this noisy and indifferent world it is really difficult to protect a candle in chest. So even if I want to put pen to ink again, when I come across this sentence, it's just "If you want to buy scented osmanthus and carry wine with you, it won't look like a young man." Ah, becoming a salted fish is so easy. Haha, yes, my 16 year old dream was to become a salt fish and this year was second year of my illness.

"Whose youth does not bother", I very much agree with this phrase. Even healthy people can hardly protect their own candles. For me, for us, it's like a dream come true. I don’t even have enough strength to fight black dog, so I still have to protect candle? Do not joke. Alas, looking at blue smoke from extinguished candle, I was so bitter that I wanted to cry, but I reluctantly clenched my fists. So I wrote again. If it goes out, then I will let it be reborn. If I can't do it once, I will do it again, if pen runs out of ink, I will change it, and when paper runs out, I will take next one until I can no longer hold pen. !

Immediately after pen changed tables, and after paper had covered room, I wrote in last line: My dream is that when I die, I look at landscape outside window and say with a smile "This life is worth "! I'm done, are you? What about your dream?

Room….

I have a habit of locking myself in my room when I get sick. To be honest, room was terrible, small and airtight, and only light I could see was "distributor" of shutters on wall. And I was there, hurting myself, whining and licking my wounds like a beast, praying for healing. I reached for light and felt like I should rot here, blood and tears leaving indelible marks on tiles. And I have wounds that never heal.

In pain, I took all mistakes on myself. I spent a lot of money to see a doctor? The quarrel between my parents started again today because of me? If I didn’t get sick, it would be good, would it be better if I were not there? ? I swallow tears along with my ego. Wouldn't it be better to be a "good boy" and an obedient and carefree "good student"? Will it change? I asked myself again and again...

Tomorrow...

"That's not it!" I was only 17 years old when I made that growl. I rushed into dark room, pulled down blinds, and light flooded in, blinding "me." "You don't really think that finalbased on premise of self-sacrifice, and there is an ending!!” "Never!!" I grabbed her bloodied hand. "It's not your fault, it's not a disease! It's not a dispute! You'd better leave?! What nonsense! If you die, then it's all over and you'll be left alone in dark, looking at people around you People go on and on, nothing If you don't cry or scream, no one will turn back, because you will never reach tomorrow!" She wiped away her tears with her hands, and her face turned red. But when he lowered his hand, he smiled at me. She reached out to me and I knew, "Come on, let's get out of this room, breakfast shop downstairs should be open."

The sun will rise again in a few hours.