Sing till sunset and see no penguins

If life continues to pass without knowing it, maybe you will still be lucky enough to meet more blessings, and encounter warmth that is neither scorching nor cold. But I will be sad, for the original intention of being lost.

"Too many sneers, but to no avail, the hope in my eyes has never been met; the rain is majestic, intertwined with tears, and the sunset glow is silent..."

I wonder if I'm not that young anymore.

Listening to songs at midnight, I chose a single loop because I liked it too much, but I lost the ability to babble. Those inexplicable little emotions, those undercurrents that can still flow deep in my heart, can no longer easily awaken my loneliness, nor can I maintain a pretentious and individualistic, tree-like attitude.

Time will give this change.

At the age of sixteen, I like the boy at the front table, that kind of emotion is like a stream in the spring field, a little bit of wind can cause wonderful little ripples.

But now, the emotion has become soft and invisible, and it needs to be vigorously knocked and questioned, and then suddenly startled - of course, there is love, love every minute, men and children.

But something seems to be different.

Just suddenly recalling the past few years, I am at a loss, I don't know how to walk this neat way, like a movie without a transitional transition, the girl who loves to dream suddenly turns into a sleep-deprived woman. There seems to be a frame missing, what is it? Can't think of anything. Just feel a little disappointed.

Later, on Weibo, I saw Kanazawa Mariko, a Japanese illustrator who started painting at the age of forty-five, and Anna Mary Robertson Moses, a grandmother who only picked up a paintbrush at the age of seventy.

I suddenly remembered what the frame I missed was because I hadn't given an account of my childhood dream.

When I was a teenager, I wanted to jump to an art class to be an art student; when I was in my twenties, I wanted to match my text with my drawings; then, I wanted to be a blue-san grandmother who could draw, Can still paint the world in the future when the hair turns grey.

This is my dream, a dream that I have been dreaming only in a dream.

The theme of Weibo was that it is not too late to draw at the age of seventy.

And I thought I'm too late. Dreams should be soiled, cultivated, and cared for from the moment you own them.

From my teenage years to now, all I've done is wait for many years, just treat it like a dream, and never deliver.

I'm not sure if at forty-five I'll be more leisurely than I am now, and I'm even less sure if at seventy my hands won't shake. The only certainty is that if you continue to wait, everything will still be empty. Like a boy saying to a girl, I'll wait for you.

Instead of everything falling to nothing, it is better to chase the dream at this moment, dragging the wind.

This winter, I will buy pure white paper and paint and draw the first color of my dream.

Well, this night I don’t know what to say, I will share with you my theme song, Da Qiao Xiao Qiao’s “Waiting in Empty” – shake the noisy galaxy in the sky, the stars slip by unintentionally, tired to the end of your life Sing till sunset and see no penguins. Life, sigh, shyness stolen by time; go home, herd, in that far place.

What I almost lost may be taking shape in your hearts.

Don't miss out.