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    ?

    I feel capable to continue writing this story.  That is the work I wrote in 2017.  [Wishful thinking] I wrote a little bit and stopped.  When I opened my folder one day and searched for the text as usual, I saw the half-finished product lying quietly.  I had the idea to finish writing it.

    Because I'm stuck in a situation where I don't know what to write.  Gotta find something to do.  It would be better to continue writing the unfinished story.  The state of mind four years ago and four years later is completely different.

    I need to come up with new storylines.

    I have insomnia again.  I think maybe I ate a candy containing meth before going to bed, or maybe I watched [Blue Forest].

    Every time I see a chapter, I can clearly recall the moment when I wrote this chapter.  Because it is a work created by myself, perhaps only I know the difficulties and hardships involved.

    Feel a little thirsty.  Nearly midnight.  I got up and drank a bottle of milk.  The cold liquid slid down the throat.  I became more and more awake. After drinking the milk, I lay back on the bed.  Listening to the sound of cars passing by outside the window.  I want to fall asleep faster.  I don't want to have dark eye sockets the next morning.

    The weather in February is warm like spring in April.  Everywhere is full of birdsong and fragrance of flowers.  I wanted to write a hymn to spring, but I thought about it for a long time, but I couldn't think of a word.

    I spend a lot of time thinking hard, thinking hard.  But did not write a word.

    My purpose is just to write the most ordinary little poem.

    Why does my mind start to be in a mess, all kinds of languages ??are entangled with each other?

    Who started messing with my predetermined board?

    The poem that should have popped into my head, it didn't.  And my heart began to flutter.

    It is not a good thing to be too rational.  I would like to be more simple and childish.  I will be more happy.  Happens sometimes more sad.  Think more.

    I bought a lot of useless books to put on the bookshelf.  Like a vanity display.  I haven't opened those books since the moment I bought them back.  They exist quietly, and have already fallen a layer of dust.

    Want to write a book.  I just don't want to let myself down.  I think too much about unrealistic things in my spare time.  However, I don't know what to write?  what can i write

    What can I what can I write?

    I really want to take a walk in the street market at two o'clock in the morning.  Feel the coldness of winter, feel the haze of the city shrouded in night.  Those who came home late, those homeless bums, a feral cat, an unclaimed dog, they form part of the night scene of the city.

    Suddenly hated the word "Yi Cheng".  When I searched for these two words on the Internet, I found that there are many similar names.  More and more people have the same name as me.  My pseudonym is no longer unique.  I feel inexplicably terrified.

    Just like my anxiety about insomnia at the moment.

    I have grown gray hair.  I am not young anymore.  Start using these decadent words to describe yourself.

    A blurry image appeared in the mirror.

    The next rain.  Let the world be quiet.  The hustle and bustle left over from the world was gradually melted away by the beautiful moonlight.

    Regarding the future, what am I afraid of?  Because more and more confused, less and less clear?

    Is what I want proportional to what I am doing now.

    And what do I really want?

    Fame and fortune?  Prosperous and rich?  Or is it a long-lasting, eternal love?

    And what am I staying here for?

    Is it because of the love of work or to stay for someone?

    Question mark.  These are all question marks.

    I can't find an answer.  Can only drill into the memory.  The deeper you sink, the less you can struggle.

    After all, I still don't like myself who is so sad.  (Remember the site URL: www.hlnovel.com
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