I typed part of the draft half a year ago, and of course it's still gibberish. But during the summer vacation, I got carried away with the baby, and this reply was stranded at the time, and it was delayed until now, and I wrote it in a hurry when the New Year was approaching, and I had to time it by year. The end of the year seems to have its own sense of majesty of deadline, and it is not angry and self-assured.
The daily life of middle-aged people can't say anything new, but it is a sporadic perception of life, comforting each other, encouraging each other, and blessings.
However, this is the warmth of words, right?See the words as they are. You can see the peach blossoms red, you can see the smiles like flowers, you can hear the laughter, and you can hear the melodious singing. I can recall my ambition and feel youthful. That's the magic of words, right?
I would very much like to sit in a corner, hold a pen, lay out a piece of paper, turn a page of a book, and take a walk. Maugham said that "reading is a refuge to carry with you", and I think fugue and writing are similar.
Society has developed to this day, and most things have won with speed, including letter writing. Do you remember the time when you used to make pen pals?Do you still remember your parents' eagerness to write a letter to their wanderer and return home?Do you remember the days when you were a freshman waiting for a letter?It's just such a thin few pages that carry too many thoughts. Now, **WeChat,** has replaced letters, life is becoming more and more convenient, and we are becoming more and more indifferent.
I can spare half a day every day to stay in my own world, where there is a world and a very safe place. If I can, I will continue.