Looking in the mirror today, I can see a white beard already~!
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I hadn’t washed my face for several days; today I washed it thoroughly and shaved my face. My hair hasn’t turned gray, but I noticed some slight whitening at the temples and around the lips. Have I really grown old? Are it the years that make one grow old, or is it worry? Life is so difficult
The swallows have gone, but they will return someday； Willows wither, but they turn green again; peach blossoms fade, but they bloom once more. But tell me, wise one, why do our days never return? ——Someone must have stolen them: who is it? Where is it hidden again? They must have run away on their own: where are they now? I don’t know how many days they have given me ； But my hands indeed grew emptier gradually. In silence, I count: over eight thousand days have slipped away from me ； Like a drop of water on the tip of a needle falling into the ocean, my days fall into the flow of time, without sound or trace. I couldn’t help but feel my head droop and tears stream down. Those who went have gone, and those who came have come ； In the coming and going, how hasty is it too? When I got up in the morning, two or three slanting beams of sunlight streamed into the cabin. The sun has feet! Moved quietly and gently ； I too spun around in confusion. And so—while washing hands, the days passed by in the basin ； While eating, the days pass by through the rice bowl ； In silence, it passes by the fixed gaze. I noticed that he left in a hurry; when I reached out to stop him, he slipped past my outstretched hand. When it got dark, I lay in bed, and he swiftly stepped over me and flew away from my feet. By the time I open my eyes and see the sun again, another day has slipped by. I covered my face and sighed. But the shadow of the new days began to flicker through sighs once again. In these days that fly by, what can I do in this world full of countless doors and homes? Only wandering, only in haste ； In these over eight thousand days of haste, what remains besides wandering? The days of the past are like wisps of smoke, scattered by the breeze; like thin mist, melted away by the first rays of sunlight ； What traces have I left behind? Have I ever left traces as delicate as thread? I came to this world naked, and in the blink of an eye, I will return naked as well? But it can’t be flat; why go through this trouble for nothing? You’re smart; tell me, why do our days never return? ——Hurry Up
:Lol, so sentimental, like a teenager
I couldn’t help but laugh at it; I didn’t feel any sadness at all.
That’s so cool – to have a white beard at such a young age
:Use Rejoice next time, and then come back and say “That’s the confidence of Rejoice”: lol
:Use Rejoice next time, and then come back and say “That’s the confidence of Rejoice”: lol