There were many books piled up in the small room, and a little girl of seven or eight years old was sitting among the books.
The sunlight shines in through the skylight, casting mottled shadows on the ground.
The tiny particles of dust in the air floated and swirled in the sunlight, hovering in the air and refusing to fall. It seemed as if a deep sadness permeated this small room.
It was a bottomless darkness. There was nothing there but invisible emptiness.
"Skylark, do you really hate this place?" A woman in a white windbreaker stood in front of the little girl, looking down at her with no emotion in her eyes. She was so rational that she looked cold.
"I hate it here." The little girl's expression was a little strange, as if she was aggrieved and angry, and she looked like she wanted to cry but couldn't .
The woman put her hands in her windbreaker pockets and said calmly, "But, Skylark, this is where you are. You cried for the first time here, took your first step in life here, got angry for the first time, smiled for the first time, and spoke to someone for the first time. It was all here."
"Even so, I still hate this place. This is not the place where I truly belong." The little girl raised her head, her eyes stubborn and resolute. Her eyes were so beautiful, but they reflected nothing.
The woman let out a long breath, stretched out her right hand to the little girl, and said lightly, "Then let's go!"
The little girl still looked at her with that look and asked in confusion: "Where are you going?"
"Go find a place that truly belongs to you," the woman replied.
"Is there such a place?" asked the little girl.
"I don't know, but, Skylark, you can't find anything here," the woman said.