We have all gone through childhood, and each of us knows about children, that endless curiosity, that boundless vision and outline, that hazy and ignorant world. But when we have already left the world of children and are busy in the sky of adults, how many people will occasionally escape from tension and busyness and hide in a secluded space alone, seriously thinking about the difference between childhood dreams and reality? It is sad to dust off childhood memories, but people who really think about it will feel more depressed: in contrast, you will find that the perfect and lofty dream for many years has long been broken, and another world has emerged that is completely opposite to imagination. This is not a fairyland with flowers, grass and freedom, this is an era full of competition and elimination, this is a society full of sin and filth, this is a numb and cruel world. So you began to marvel at your acceptance. Over the years, reality has already pushed your dream back step by step. In our unguarded consciousness, in our muddled life, we have no regrets. When the distance is too great to be redeemed, we find that we have already lost the consciousness of shouting and crying. This society will not mourn for anything that cannot be undone. We are the product of this era and the victims of sadness.

After many years, I returned to my long-lost hometown. When I touched Bo Ban's door, a tear slipped on the dusty keyhole without warning. I brushed it lightly. Over and over again, I tried in vain and stubbornly to go back to the past and look for that era full of beautiful dreams. Looking at the door, I remembered how many days and nights of my childhood, when my father took my hand and walked through the overgrown stone road. My father stroked my face with his broad palm, gentle, kind, rough and happy. I finally know that in today's world, I have lost a kind of care and trust, so I have to restrain myself. I can't stare at everything around me innocently with bright eyes. Things that have long been vicissitudes can never get rid of the traces of time. Watching a lonely goose fly by hesitantly outside the window, I saw my own shadow. In the noisy world, I stubbornly escaped from the melody of life alone, hid in the corner surrounded by the world, dug up things that had already been buried by time, and felt sad for some past events that conformed to the laws of life but did not conform to my own aesthetics. I know it's stupid. The more mature a person's mind is, the more he can understand the meaning of deformity, even beauty.

I finally understand that there is no paradise on earth, and the illusion of sinking will only make me more depressed. I will bravely accept this incomplete world, dust off my memory and face the future bravely.