Everyone's world is different

Everyone's world is different, some are full of life and death, some are engraved with endless poetry, some don't show a single ray of light, and more, it's just a small box, which started out full of amniotic fluid, in which you rode your parents and swam, and then the water dried up, and then bottles, game consoles, transcripts, houses, briefcases, condoms, square dances... ...all the familiar people, all the measured land, a few love letters, a few tears, a few papers, a few keys, many questions, many opinions, little realization, little madness. The last shovelful of white bones ...... you see so most people are not the same? Why again say not the same? Because the world gives too much, you can want to dare to want to finally want to be too little, originally time is scarce, and often the limited time used in the curse of time on the limited, so the real serious living is only so many years, a few days, or even just a few moments. So what you end up with in the box is just a tiny bit of dirt. Or music, or food, or clothes, or mechanics, or history, or language, or officialdom, or markets, or people, or atmosphere. No, no, no, these are all too big, an umbrella, a smile, a sapling, any tiny thing in the world is enough for a lifetime of learning if you want it to be. It's like buying a lottery ticket, there are 100 million numbers to pick 100 to leave behind, how many bumps can two people pick exactly the same? That's why I say, everyone's world is different.

The world is not the same, the rules are not the same.

There are worlds where eating is a matter of life and death, and there are worlds where drinking milk is a matter of adding exactly 2.16g of sugar. There is a world where light travels in a straight line, and there is a world where light is invisible. In some worlds, a pair of barbecued wings costs 5 dollars, in some worlds, a stone costs 5 million dollars. There are worlds where only classical music is played, and worlds where you must wear protective clothing and goggles.

The rules are different, the way to live is different.

Some people sell their kidneys after selling their blood, and their lives after selling their bodies. Some of them have been down the yacht is the golf course, listening to the concert after going to travel around the world. Some people work eight hours a day for eight dollars an hour, some people work eight months once, once enough to rest for eight years. Some people have to kneel in the street and kowtow all the time. Some people wave their hands gently, and there will be hundreds of people waiting for him to say, "All the beloved ministers, please rise. This is not called inequality, just different.

The living method is not the same, the dream is not the same.

Farmers want to put down their hoes and live in the big city. White-collar workers wish to take off their suits and lie down in the golden fields. A man wants to lie on a woman, and a woman wants the person lying on her body to be powerful. Some people want this life if every meal can come to two pounds of meat is enough, some people want to be all less driving more trees will not be the sky gray gray. Some people say, we have to implement the scientific concept of development, some people say that one day I will see the real Buddha.

However, often want to be a singer of the last now so-and-so door said: "Please show your valid documents, please get off the implementation." He wore a straight uniform and his voice made people feel comfortable. The one who wanted to be a painter later stood in front of the black-and-white-striped man and said, "The defendant didn't want to use the knife, it was just self-defense." The one who wanted to be a cook went home already too tired to cook, and the one who wanted to be a writer didn't want to be one after thinking about it. So life is not as good as it should be.

Usually, only people in similar worlds are fit to bump into each other very, very close together, and it's not that both are fitness instructors and both are counter attendants. Rather, no matter what they each do, their worlds look like a picture, or both look like shit, and that harmonizes.

So there's door-to-door.

It's just similar but not the same,

so there's no real empathy.

I suddenly wanted to try to paint my world, but immediately I understood that my world is not a painting so can not be painted, it should be a door, a four-square door without much carved flowers. Not too expensive, not that shabby either. Surrounded by only a few neighbors from far away. Never visited, just greeted with a smile when someone came. Living a rather resigned and casual life. But that's not all. If you accidentally pushed the door open, the room that was cluttered to the point of grandeur was my real world. It contained countless small worlds, countless heroes, countless tombstones. It was every unwritten story I'd ever seriously conceived since I was a kid, sometimes I was the main character sometimes I wasn't, and it had every book I'd ever read in it. People say writers have two lifetimes, one in the murky world and one on paper, how profitable. But they are silly ah, the empty dreamer only earn it, after every dream will live a lifetime, he can be a man or a woman can not be a person, can be good or bad live or die. It can be everything. If he believes what he builds. But why not believe it? Why is it okay to believe so many lies, but not this?

I believe that my world is like that, forever to be closed by an idiotic door that cannot be broken free.

And, everyone's world, is different.