本帖最后由 PaulHermeos 于 2017-4-9 16:55 编辑
Meer von Dirac
CHAPTER 0
Is growing up replacing my childhood with something tougher and more parochial, or, is it just, piling up years on the past?
Considering the lost and wasted, it’s not easy to repress sadness when once more, realize that flowing days had flooded all the precious time we remember now. You see—- the green lights beyond the dock of Gatsby’s house sometimes are magical as your deep night wonder for the blossoming white spots above that sky. Do we still stuck in hesitating? I thought that was not simply nostalgia, within it something is being chased, remembered, analysed.
Now it’s empty life with nothing to do or already handled, born in a person and be another one in the desire which bring us into the illusion off and on. Where we scorned and thus easily forgot is also where buried the original seed of all the motivations and directions.
And days after years, we will repeat this despondence and feel lost over, and over, again.
But how do we go across reality more splendid than wonders in dreams? The nothingness is filling, with infinity which is, ANY.
Past memories
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