This one is an essay that is recommended to skip.

So can you tell me what life is?

This is the first time I've asked myself about my second self.

Probably at 4:19 p.m. this afternoon, I got a provisional answer, and it was recorded.

Maybe it's better to write it down with a pen.

But I didn't want to move, I really couldn't walk to the dormitory from such a beautiful scenery and artistic conception, even if the door of the dormitory was only one step away from me.

Often, one step away is the end.

In fact, there is no artistic conception, and there is no beautiful scenery that will disappear.

It's just human wishful thinking.

So what is the view?

The vistas and scenery must be taken as GIFs, and I'm sure I'll say that to my friends who know how to shoot in the future.

But for me now, there are two pictures of the beautiful scenery that I am talking about now.

I had just begun to calm down, and I put my legs on the railing, and there was a purple clay pot soaked in white tea needles on the stool in the corridor, a small speaker for singing, and a clamshell lighter that I liked for the time being, and a flip lighter that I liked for the time being, oh yes, and a book, a book that was the same as me, but sure that someone would understand it.

This is the foundation laid, and the beautiful scenery I said is really after reading a chapter, I accidentally raised my head on purpose, and saw a large ship carrying goods in the long river next to it that had an end but stretched out into the distance.

It's slow, I've ever been here, and I've seen the first big ship like this, and the image it gives me is very slow.

If I race against him within 100 meters, I will be the champion.

Cloudy.

So the clouds on the distant horizon that resemble splashed ink paintings, but are diluted by the water that the child has accidentally sprinkled.

There was a man on the bridge.

That's the first view.

When I saw this beautiful scenery, I flicked off the cigarette I didn't know when.

Yes, I littered cigarette butts.

I've never been a polite person, and I feel comfortable littering, and I'm afraid not everyone thinks that way.

But whether the garbage ends up in the trash can or not, that's everyone's choice.

You should have guessed it, I would choose to end up sending him in the trash, it wasn't taught by my mom and dad, it was taught by me myself.

I don't want to write it, so I'll finish writing the second beautiful scenery next time.

After all, the song is cut, the cigarette is gone, and I am not the person I just wanted to write.