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The Resilient Yimi Flower |
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The vast yellow sand swept across the sky, and the scorching sun dried up
every trace of life. And there I was, gazing at the passing of my own
existence with a constant posture.
Perhaps I am just a seed of unknown origin and uncertain destination,
mysteriously falling into this desolate wilderness. I deluded myself into
surviving in this land. As a tiny tender sprout, I faintly remember my name,
Yimi Flower. Perhaps waiting is the enduring theme of my vitality. It is the
faint hope in my bleak life. Yesterday, or maybe some other day in my life,
another Yimi Flower and I silently witnessed the demise of another plant.
Its hoarse cries in its final moments, due to lack of water, still lingered
in our ears. But we could only remain silent, only minimize the evaporation
of our own moisture, as we, who stubbornly survive in the desert, have long
been accustomed to the closeness of death.
Whose weeping dissipates whose desolation, whose waiting turns into whose
departure? Enduring the heart-wrenching pain, I firmly root myself deep into
the desert filled with gravel. It is said that in a past life, there was
also a group of Yimi Flowers that left behind a brilliant display, like the
dance of the phoenix flower on a small slope. I have always wondered if we
are worth spending a lifetime in this desolate desert, waiting for a flower
to bloom. Can the faint resentment of youth, growing towards the sunlight,
bear the weight of heavy beliefs? After all, what the wind disperses, drop
by drop, conceals a desolation tinged with green.
The boundless night is my fatal weakness. I have to shed the facade of
strength I wear day after day and give birth to a bundle of fears. The dark
clouds of the night drift around as if they were the rumored demons, making
me fearful. The icy breath brought by the dark elves, the teardrops of dusk,
are a golden sadness. To linger in them is to experience indescribable
strangeness and desolation, unnoticed by anyone. In a corner of the
boundless desert, how I tremble with fear.
Time is so silent, slowly washing away life. Fortunately, under the ruthless
ravages of time, I held onto my persistence, waiting. When that flower,
which crystallizes the entirety of my life, blooms and adorns the reflection
of the firmament like sparkling stars, my resentment will scatter with the
wind. I composed a breathtaking symphony with my faith, like the dance of a
butterfly across three lifetimes, exquisitely captivating.
But did you see it? Those splendid petals are filled with my longing. The
fragrant aroma is my surging blood. What blooms in the midst of the desert
is my unwavering persistence over the years. Have you seen all of these?
Please, you must see behind the flower, the stains of blood and tears. |
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