Midnight heart meets shadow essay

There is one thing in this world that everyone has; There is one thing in this world, and it is different. It accompanies you, from dawn to dusk, every moment, with you. You always remember its existence when you are idle or lonely, sometimes cold, sometimes loved.

It is your lingering companion, and where there is light, there is its existence. It is the darkness that you can't hide, a shadow, a kind of shortcoming.

I sat quietly in front of the window, looking at the couples on the street corner, at the playfulness of the naughty children on the distant mountains, at the world where everyone was concerned, and at the complex thoughts that I was getting farther and farther away. Everyone says that this society is good, the technology is developed, and it is refreshing. Everyone scolds this society for being bad, lacking in quality, and having low conduct.

I always feel that I am good enough, with a beautiful face and good facial features. I also always feel that I am not good at all, too many worries, public IQ. I glanced at the paper in front of my desk, struggling with unknown calculations one by one, like hideous faces, laughing at my stupid brain cells.

I looked at my shadow on the wall, which was the only one that had learned to shut up, to live without a trace. I stretched out my hand, and the shadow reached out to me, accepting all my restless emotions. I felt like my whole self was going to blow up, and then I felt ridiculous.

Oh, how nice it is to be alive like you. I slowly crouched down against the wall, and a clear glass appeared in front of me. I was trapped in the flickering light, but I could only see my own shadow in my eyes, on the side of the glass, tilting my head, as if smiling at me.

I couldn't read its smile, one moment I felt it was as warm as the sun, and the next I found it grinning and sneering emotionlessly. I was so scared of it that I tried to close my eyes, but my mind was filled with smiles that it couldn't explain. I felt like a fool who was stuck in a swamp and didn't know how to save myself, but I felt like I was trapped in the blazing fireworks.

The fear faded, and I stood up with my eyes closed. I think I have to start facing it, face it head-on, accept it, and win it with a fight. I slowly opened my eyes, and yes, it was still there, still smiling mysteriously.

Only this time, it was different, and I had a determined look, as if I already knew its reaction in my heart. I strode forward without fear, my hands clenched into fists and I began to pound the clear glass violently. I know, it saw me, it stopped keeping that smile and looked at me incredulously.

Yes, this is me, this is what I should be! The moment my hand was punctured by the glass, the gap between us collapsed.

Believe in yourself, as long as you move forward bravely and dare to challenge your shortcomings, you can always gain the real you from different worlds!

The thin curtain cut a clear opening, which spread slowly, and was lost in the night. The night is spreading, and it is a dark heart, or a pure heart. The night is the shadow of the night, inseparable.

Fallen leaves fall into the water, looking at the shadow of the dead tree. Falling, drifting, it has lost its purest shadow. One eye stares dead into the night, perhaps the shadow of a wave that has been stirred up.

One eye glanced at the healing wound and cut it back and forth. The illuminated ink lines trace the zigzag arcs, hesitating, conjecturing, and calming the notes of the past. The dead leaves tumbled out of the night sky, but they did not reflect their shadows, grabbed them out of the water, and put them back into the water.

The piece dies ten notes every half beat, unfilthy and stained with fire. The sedan chair is hesitant, and the occlusion locks the stained one at the intersection of the two beams of light. Thinking is aimless, but it turns out to be golden.

There is no purple aura, inexplicably sucking the color of the aura; There is no discarding of the scene, and there is a clear passing away. Shadows are shadows.

Missed the waves, and stared at the waves, that eye became distracted, but brilliant. How freehand that is! Or is it that the overflowing memories are not pure meaning.

Relieved, no longer struggling, phantom smoke lingering around the non-existent hand holding the cigarette. Maybe night is part of Teal, it's just a synonym. The shadow of the water in the night.

The shadow of the night is formed under the squeezing. Where the sun rises from the return of the ink line, it also finds a home for the light.

Everything bubbled out, just shadows, images of the night watchman chasing the night, the fragments of power that never fell, but silently passed through the water. Looking back on the scene, the eyes lost their brilliance in the twilight, and the shadow appeared in the shadow of the past, which was relied on. It's the light of the night.