Night has come again.

Is the endless darkness really the same world as the day? Day and night are in themselves opposing conditions, because they constitute all possibilities, and they are one or the other. But I always felt that day and night were not just two alternating time periods, but portals to different worlds.

I lay on a velvet mattress and in the darkness, ethereal at the silhouette of the chandelier on the ceiling. The outline seemed erratic, yet indisputably indelible. The wind outside the window is whistling, icy and howling, but it provides a platform for the cotton quilt to perform its function. The more the temperature drops, the warmer the quilt becomes, which can almost be regarded as a source of happiness. Isn't happiness the search for self-sufficiency in harsh conditions? Absurdly absurd, man is such a strange creature, and only by touching a thorny rose can he awaken his consciousness and realize painless happiness. In a stable and comfortable environment, people are basically numb, confused, and struggling to survive. It's not that anyone wants to do that, it's not self-controlled. Human beings are just a weak shell on a high-speed machine, and the only thing they can do is to continue to operate on the basis of what they have done before.

That's all.

Is this sad? Actually, it's not sad. It's very easy, saving us the unnecessary tossing and turning of all the tricks, and it can help us find a peaceful and calm place, and get used to a self-set regular self-treatment mode, which is nothing wrong. Sadness comes after you think it's sad, and if you don't feel sad, you'll have no solid form of sadness.

In the darkness, I could vaguely see that the curtains, which were not light, were blown up by the wind and fluttered rhythmically, as if dancing with the wind. How can the curtains be blown up? Isn't it good to be silent? Don't the curtains want to be lonely and want to have some sense of existence? But what is right, no one tells it, right? Do curtains have life? If there is no life, how can it be so ridiculous and pathetic?

The humidity of the air is just right. It won't be too moist and cause it to smell mossy, nor will it be too dry to make the skin dry and flaky. It's just right, but I still feel missing, which is weird. If we are too excessive, it will lead to serious consequences, and if we are not overdone and not satisfied, what should we do? Does the so-called correct solution really exist? Is there such a possibility, no matter what path we take, it is all wrong? Presumably, correctness can never really be achieved. At the moment when I felt that I was close to what was right, did I fall into another whirlpool of error? Although no one gave a prescript, and there was no absolutely positive standard answer, I could still feel that I was doing what kind of thing in what way, and I was judging whether it was right or not. If it feels weird in your heart, then there must be something wrong with this approach. But the problem is that I don't feel strange in my heart, almost none. Sometimes, the hope of a definite guide as a reliable response is as illusory as a faded color, and it seems that it will never be realized.

I rolled over and pulled at the corner of the thick quilt so that it wrapped around my body tightly, intending to use the airtight quilt to protect against the cold wind that blew in the night.