Tomorrow

The shadowy light through the glass door in the room linked into vague lines, dim room as if everything is in a long sleep. Whenever this kind of time, I can't help but think more. Am I missing something? The weather is always cloudy, and the light is always like a hazy veil, and when it reaches me, it is no longer pure and translucent. I resisted the urge to go back under the covers and got out of my high dorm bed with the confusion I felt when I first woke up. The coldness of my clothes was mixed with the wetness of the early morning, and I always wondered if I had missed something in this brightening.

I always feel like I'm missing out on something. It's like a piece of a complete heart is always missing. I was forced to fall asleep every night listening to a song, forced to do my best to curb my desire for help whenever I could, forced to wake up every time I had to tell myself a thousand times that today is a new day, and you can't wallow in the loss. It seems like there is something in the distance, trying to make me hear, as if near, there is something, hissing at me. I can only wander around this campus in the rain. I know there is a place to get out of the rain, but there seems to be no reason to do so. I know that I can get help, but it seems that I don't need any help. What did I miss? What is it?

The wind was blowing through the trees between the buildings, sounding like a wail or a sigh. Is it still raining? I was walking aimlessly and couldn't tell for a while. The sky is cloudy, which is good. At least in this oppressive darkness, there is no longer a difference between light and shadow. No one will be cast in a dazzling place to perform, no one will be abandoned in a gloomy place to be depressed. I thought. But the strong sense of absence kept coming over me as if it would never end. I still don't understand the reason for that added sorrow.

There was no important work, no unfinished story. Just an ordinary, uneventful day with nothing to do. Why should I put a tinge of loss in this rare leisure? I can't understand. Perhaps, after a long time, I also will not understand. I always feel that I have missed something. But this time is just right, and this struggle makes me resentful. It seems that I must pursue this feeling, must, in this should be an easy time, to clear a piece of place.

Why, then, do I always feel like I'm missing something? Could it be the flowers that I haven't stopped to see? No, not. In the years I have spent, I know that sadness is not the reason for this loss. Could it be the friends I failed to say goodbye to? I don't know, but I still feel that something is wrong. I'm chasing the wind, inch by inch, like this rain. What could it be? What will it be? This doubt is like a curse imposed on me, like a deep, bottomless abyss. It roared and hissed at me, expecting me to bind my hands. In this wind, I wrapped my sleeves tightly and still refused to turn back.

In this rain, I walked for a long time. Walking and walking, walking to the late night, unattended streets. I know the reason, I know, the reason for this loss. But I would rather listen to songs at night and pretend to be free, rather than wake up in every dream, convincing myself that I have not looked back, but also, to bear that inner hissing also not seek help. I was just too late to weave an excuse, too late to accept that someone was far away. So, I just let the gap, just pretend to miss, is some insignificant flowers, optional words. The rain is still falling, in the dim night light, I stopped at this intersection.

In the distance, there is a flower bed, there is a community, scattered with a few warm lights, in the distance, there is a court hovering some reluctance to disperse the shadow of the people. I want to get closer, but I feel that it seems inappropriate. In the rain, I knew I had missed something. After all, words that deceive you, even if they are subtle, do not last long. I know that I missed a pair of warm hands, I missed the intersection of my peers, I missed the greeting that was within reach, I missed the years, and I missed keeping each other. I was lost, in that distant laughter, waving at the rain in the night. It slipped through my fingertips and it moistened my face. I should thank it for revealing my lies, I should thank it for covering my reddened eyes. But, amid the laughter, I couldn't stop myself from hissing at it: "Tomorrow, tomorrow!" Under the watchful eyes of the teenagers with the ball, I mingled with the rain and shouted, "Please let me, tomorrow, remember again!"

It's just a sad story, just a sickly moan. No cause, no end.