Maybe Jiang Lang is exhausted, and there are no beautiful words in his head, even if he feels good about himself, but after all, it has become a habit, and he feels awkward after stopping for a long time.

In the middle of the night, I tried to find a comfortable sleeping position, but it was not a good thing, even though my eyes were already starting to swell, but I still wanted to keep them open, so I simply found something to do.

Many times I don't dare to reveal myself in front of others, flaunting that I often write, because after all, what I write can't be seen by the people around me, for fear that it will scare them, of course, I may also feel that my writing is really bad, and I am not in this industry, so I am naturally embarrassed to speak, but as I said before, the joy of immersing myself in writing is real, maybe I am wandering on the edge of this gate.

I tried to look inside, but I couldn't get in, and I was unwilling to keep wandering outside the door, but this long-term thinking of right and wrong made me feel really contradictory.

Sometimes I can't think of things that I can't understand, let them go, maybe I will figure them out one day, and some things may never be understood, and occasionally I feel that writing is self-comfort for me, because writing can make me calm, relaxed, and don't want me.

This is the life I pursue, it is not complicated and tiring, only simple and happy.

I can't touch my own heartbeat, but I'm still alive, and writing is a moment in that life.

A long time ago, I was still boasting that my writing gave me to think, but now it's more about writing that makes me immersed and no longer cranky, just like Lao Tzu's words: Wu Wei.

There was a blank in my head, but I was still able to write something to fill in that gap, and I thought I was really fit for that path.

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