Nightingale

When she was very young, she liked to read Andersen’s Fairy Tale. A book was about to be rolled, but the pages of a story were still new. There was no princess, prince, or witch in that story.

She probably belongs to the category of late maturity. When she was a child, she wrote articles and wrote “My Ideal.” She would always write: “I want to be a scientist.” God knew that little girl had no specific concept of a scientist in her heart. As a teenager, the girl next to her started mumbling about daydreaming, but she was drowsy under the sun, not even dreaming.

When the word “future” began to grow in the hearts of others, the tree in her heart still had only leaves, only green and delicate leaves, a vitality, but she never expected the colors of the future.

Before the college entrance examination, she sat on the railing of the playground and hummed to watch the sunset. A boy came over and asked, “Where do you want to report?” She was dumb and slow, and just answered, “I don’t know.”

Of course, her college entrance examination volunteers were also filled in a little confused, she unknowingly read a university and chose a major that she did not like.

When it was time to consider her life, someone was busy studying for postgraduate studies and someone was busy designing resumes. She still went to the library to read novels, and went to the cinema to catch the latest movies.

In her first job, she smoothly transformed from a college student to a journalist.

When the dust around her was settled and she began to seek years of stability, she suddenly woke up from the ignorant state that lasted for several years, and her dull heart was full of flowers of desire for a while. She negated the established life one by one, as if a voice in her heart said to her, “You haven’t seen the outside world yet, why did you say goodbye to that world?”

So in the horrified eyes of others, the girl who was always good-natured suddenly believed in breaking the rules and resigned to travel around the world and began a life of chaos in the eyes of others.

There are always people who are slow and late. When others were planting, they were dozing off; when others were pulling, they just peeped out of the soil, ignorant and fearless; when others were blooming, they did n’t know what the flowering period was; Only then did they tentatively blossom the first flower.

Perhaps a slow life would make her miss the best people and things again and again, miss the summer that is most suitable for a flower bloom, and miss the most fruitful autumn. Although her slow life missed her a lot, thankfully, she did not miss her own flowering after all.

Many years later, she read a fairy tale book to a little girl on the journey, and finally read the story that was boring in her childhood-“Nightingale”.

When the nightingale is in the cage, the singing voice loses life; when the nightingale is imitated, the singing voice loses its spirituality. But the nightingale returned many years later and rescued the emperor from the hand of death. It found the best way to get along with him. It had freedom and he found his original heart.

She finished reading the story and wet her eyes in the dark.

There is always a way of life that allows you not to blindly follow reality, but also to keep you from losing happiness and freedom. As long as you look back every time, you can see the person standing at the starting point, see the clarity and innocence in your eyes.

Facing the living with compassion and joy. If you do n’t forget your original intention, all your sufferings will return to you.

How lucky she was to go so far, and finally met the nightingale in her heart.