Desk, quietly placed in a corner, bearing countless thoughts and creativity. Its surface is smooth, the texture of the wood in the sun shines a warm luster, exudes the atmosphere of age. Every scratch is a mark of time, and every stain carries a fragment of memory.
There are all kinds of stationery scattered on the desk. To its left is a sharpened pencil, and next to it is a pad of unfinished scratch paper, densely filled with ideas and thoughts that have just emerged. In the center of the desk, an open book lies quietly, the edges of the pages slightly rolled, seemingly calling people to explore the world between the lines. The aroma of the books mingled with the trivial paper to create a warm yet familiar smell.
On the right side of the desk, there is a small lamp, the light is soft, illuminates the corner of the desk, and dispels some shadows. When the night falls, the light falls softly, as if to provide a warm shelter for thinking and creation. In the dead of night, the desk is the only partner, accompanying countless late night thinking and exploration.
Behind the desk, there is a window that occasionally lets in a breeze, gently stirring the draft paper, as if to encourage the creator to boldly pursue the idea. The scenery outside the window is sometimes quiet, sometimes noisy, no matter how it changes, the desk is always the same, witnessing countless inspiration and spiritual dialogue.
This desk is not only an object, but also a harbor of thought, an emotional sustenance. Here, dreams can grow freely,emotions can flow freely. Everyone in front of it has had a moment of contemplation,or the passion of writing,will become a part of life, leaving an indelible mark.
Years in the desk upstream walk,quietly witness the growth and change.Despite the passage of time,it is still fixed in this space,regardless of how the outside world changes. It is the starting point of creation, but also the destination of memories.