For Life

Autumn is when leaves are most beautiful — that unrestrained, sweeping dance, the height of boldness, carrying the ripeness of life, walking firmly toward death.

I have a cat with sleek fur, who often treats my hand as a mouse — pouncing over, tentatively touching, then leaping far away, looking at me mischievously.

A friend has written again. Life isn't going well for him over there — always a string of ellipses. His handwriting is truly amusing, like an overgrown patch of wasteland; I should tidy it up for him. I open the window, and the sunlight is sweet, like swimming in the wind. Days pass one by one, happy and beautiful. The mosquito in the corner of the wall has stopped its buzzing at some point — who hurt it? Let me pray for you.

The world is wonderfully inexpressible, life is so brilliant. I deeply love this heavenly place as beautiful as a fair lady, like rain falling in love with the embrace of the earth. I have come to understand the sensation of fading in "1 Litre of Tears", and lightly blame myself for being too sentimental, thinking life is too narrow. Love lets us forget all pain. Recalling the legendary bird Jingwei, I cannot move the sea, but I can let an inexhaustible emotion pass on endlessly.

In this sentimental world, the kite tied by the thread of emotion always drifts and sways. Love gives us everything, because love itself is everything.