A diary.
The news of the chrysanthemums falling came in the wind, and there was a cool and faint fragrance.
In the depths of the desert, I found a diary, gentle, thin, like the nothingness of these years.
The diary says: The weather is fine, there are crying, there are laughter, there are good and bad things happening.
The diary said: I heard that the study was traveling 300 miles west, and there were flowers blooming, so I decided to go and see it. After that, nine hundred days were saved.
The diary says: She is very good, very beautiful, very fragrant. Three thousand words are omitted here.
The diary says: The food she cooked was delicious. A thousand words are omitted here.
The diary says: She was occasionally angry. Two hundred words are omitted here.
The diary said: a little sad, a little tired. One hundred words are omitted here.
The diary says: We are all inseparable from each other, and we are inseparable from the reality of our respective dissatisfaction. Ten words are omitted here.
The diary says: Alas!
Such a diary omits too many heavy real words in life, so that everything that is not bad floats and gives people **. This is something I appreciate.
Such a diary omits too many dispensable words in life, without hi, heh, hey, ha, uh-huh, ahhhhh Let pain and pleasure come alive, and be silent as dumb. This is something I can't bear.
The word "alas" should be the final chapter of all real diaries.