<poem> waiting for the bus

How many years have you been waiting for that childhood bus that never arrived. At that time, the young wishes were picked one by one and made into cans with no shelf life, and you can't enjoy them until you can't remember them anymore

The car still didn't come. It never promises to get you on time

I want to ride it and look back to find a station that will not be crowded. No hard waiting, no anxiety about not being able to get on the bus. You suddenly see the shadow of the grown-up, standing silently at the stop sign opposite, waiting to leave the waiting childhood

Looking forward to the moment when you are either off work or missed, but always arrive at the stop on time and give up, oncoming is the unrecognizable start and end of the bus that can't wait. The fermented sour smell wafts from the backpack.

Back to the still-crowded terminus Young life in no hurry to set off You anxiously pass through the gate where the ticket is cut, but the car you want to take is already a pile of scrap metal

It turns out that the dream is in the roadless wilderness, but you have been waiting for the bus