We talked about school, teachers, and my high school life.

I talked about a stepped iron frame on the playground. It seemed to be welded with thick iron sheets, and each layer was covered with wooden boards.

During the school sports meeting, there were many teachers sitting on top with stopwatches to keep time.

That was its only function.

In my memory, the thing was quite high, about seven or eight stories, four or five meters high, and you had to hold on to the wooden boards on the steps to go up each floor.

Because it is very tall, this platform has always been placed next to the playground. For a period of time in high school, I would run on the playground during evening self-study. When I was tired, I would sit on the platform to rest.

I then shamelessly shared with my schoolgirl how idle I was in high school, but the schoolgirl said that the platform was dismantled in her first year of school.

Before I could recover, she added calmly: That thing was too old and had to be dismantled for safety reasons.

She said it so naturally.

This should indeed be taken for granted.

Although I had been proudly putting on the airs of an old senior in front of her and talking condescendingly about how we were back then, it wasn't until this moment that I realized that it had really been many years.

In recent years, I have become less and less concerned about time. Perhaps this is a common problem among people who do nothing.

Only occasionally through other people's words will I remember that I am no longer a teenager.

There are no Jiazi in the mountains, and it is so cold that I don’t know the year.

This is the opening line of "Journey to the West".

But the same poem has different feelings in different moods.

When I first read it as a young boy, I felt a fairy-like atmosphere, but now that I think about it, I feel a sense of desolation.

I have seen the pines and cypresses destroyed for wages, and I have even heard that the mulberry fields have turned into the sea.

That platform used to kill a lot of my time.

During summer evening self-study, I would always run to the platform alone and climb up fearfully.

I'm a little afraid of heights, but I really like lying on the top floor, feeling the residual heat of the summer day coming from the wooden boards under me, and enjoying the leisurely evening breeze.

Until the school bell rang in the distance, and the classrooms in the teaching building darkened one by one.

Before that, I was lying quietly like that, listening to MP3, looking at the deep sky, and my mind was filled with wild and unconstrained fantasies.

I fantasize about beautiful girls and about success and fame.

The playground at night is deserted. Sometimes I am accompanied by the bright moon, sometimes by the shining stars.

It's hard to tell people what's on your mind or tell it to the blue sky and bright moon.

While I was looking at the bright moon and stars, I was thinking about Li Bai and Tang Yin. The Second World thought that I, like them, regarded the moon as my only close friend.

I think I am just like them, depressed and frustrated.

Although I didn't even think about the future seriously, the young man's heart was so restless.

That dilapidated platform has always been with me, but all I can see are the stars and the bright moon.

It was finally demolished.

I finally remembered it.

I feel like an era is coming to an end and something is slowly leaving me.

It's a pity that my superficial writing style cannot describe this hypocritical feeling.

All I know is that there is one less place to remember, and I can never go back.

The young man was arrogant and proud of his pen, but now, his youth has faded away and he is full of desolation.

I failed to live up to my youth’s expectations for my future self. In my imagination at that time, I would become a great person.

I have been thinking of that iron frame lately, and the bright moon I was looking up at always appeared in front of my eyes.

There is also a girl on the podium, wearing a black and white school uniform, leading the exercises.

I can't seem to remember her face clearly, I just remember that she always had a ponytail and was jumping and flying in the sun.

I think she is like the bright moon.

She was not born to me, it just happened to be sprinkled on me at this moment.

Life between heaven and earth is like a traveler from afar. After the floating clouds say goodbye, the water flows for ten years.
Chapter completed!