(1)
In the late autumn of 2013, at the end of autumn and the beginning of winter.
On the seventh day, people were awake before the early morning alarm clock rang. His eyes were still covered with tiredness, and he turned sideways, hazy and tired, but full of emotions that made it difficult to fall asleep again.
Last night, my mind seemed to be wandering in my dream again, looking for the echo I had been waiting for during the day. Your faint words are like the comfort of autumn wind blowing across your cheeks, with a hint of coolness. When you wake up, there is no coolness...
Memory is like a rhythm disturbed by the seasons. The longing on hold has messed up my pace beautifully in front of you.
The messy thoughts seem to have become impetuous. Between the time I started writing and the time I put it down, I lost my original calm mind over the past month. You are the rhythm that I have never disturbed, but I have disturbed the rhythm of my heart. I feel depressed and depressed, and it seems that I no longer need any reason.
At this time in the south, even if winter has not yet entered, it is still the darkest time of autumn. Bauhinia flowers once again crowd the branches, becoming the most beautiful and distinctive scenery in this season, but it is not enough to dilute the deep loneliness of autumn.
The memory of the kapok tree, accompanied by the old green leaves on the branches, peeled off bit by bit over time... The five leaves that grew together on one branch also suddenly trembled and fell off in the breeze. One leaf fell leisurely in front of the steps beside the iron railing, seeming to be rehearsing the final farewell in autumn.
There was a time when I became the kapok in your poems. The buds were filled with the fragrance of happiness, and the bags also contained the lines of poetry you wrote for me. In the warmth of "Similar to Love", I also experienced a few days of happiness and peace. Why do you, who met in autumn, write me spring poems? Your sight turns out to be as hurried as when you thought about the loneliness of late autumn in the early autumn night. At this moment, my rhythm can no longer keep up with yours, and my dreams are the rush that has never caught your footsteps...
I once lost the enthusiasm of the hot summer, sketching all the way The chapter of "Youth has passed the long summer". In the late autumn when love is gradually dying, why do you still inject the message of spring into me?
I saw the appearance of Kapok in the first spring when I came to Yizhou. The tall and straight tree, already as tall as the sky, grows quietly in the track and field paddock. If you look at its petals from a close distance, the thick flesh will give you a somewhat naive sight and touch. But if you look at the cluster of reds in the sky from a distance, the branches must be a bit wild, a bit powerful and powerful. Contaminated by pride. The leafless bouquets on the branches are full of enthusiasm, but to me, they are too unrestrained and exaggerated.
I once thought: If the kapok had not bloomed in its original color, compared with the cluster of red fire in Lingxiao, would it still be more elegant and elegant?
Kapok has to wait for the season to bloom and then cross the entire winter's coldness. Will you still wait for the season when the flowers bloom, instead of leaving only the decisive back and shadow in the moments when the paths pass each other? Haste?
I have never forgotten the poem you wrote. However, instead of saying that you are a dusky crow waiting beside the kapok, guarding the season of flowers blooming, it is better to say that you are just that overly handsome and tall tree in the sky, just waiting for the flowers to bloom and surround you in the sky. The branches attracted swarms of bees and butterflies...
The love affair with kapok still failed to overcome the coldness of half of autumn. I once imagined that when you and I are nearly fifty, we will be in front of our children in front of a large floor-to-ceiling window, facing the sunset and telling them about the extraordinary "destiny" between us. Unfortunately, the years passing by are not as good as staying together. After all, time cannot wait for the coming of spring, and the thoughts full of "leafless branches" have been dispersed.
Kapok is not like other flowers that are scattered in fine pieces on the branches, or scatter a dreamy or melancholy phantom inadvertently or inadvertently. Her withering, like its color, is as extreme as blood. When it falls, it still retains the appearance of flowers on the branches. I once said that the kapok withered into flowers might just be weak and old branches. Now, facing the tragedy of her withering away, facing the separation of a relationship, my heart suddenly became clear - perhaps, leaving a flower intact and drifting away is the best ending for this relationship. It's like retaining her original complete beauty, towering like a tree in the sky. You can't see the imperfections that modified her, you can't see the traces of her pain. You can only see her withering away among your branches with her last bit of elegance. Very sad.
After all, branches are the admiration and expectation of flowers. Therefore, when the flowers wither, the flower sacs are still open, as if they retain admiration for the branches.
The relationship between us is an illusion of acquaintance and unseen, a hazy weaving of poetry and dreams. Regardless of the reason it started in the first place, whether it was loneliness or throbbing, whether the relationship is true or false, don't think about whether it leads to the final scene because of the despicable or noble purpose. I know that the truth will be revealed one day, but I never thought it would come so early...
The care and seriousness I once had were just regarded as a kind of "fun" from beginning to end, and it was so cold that I had never seen it before. The heart of belonging. But at that moment, I didn't sigh as if I was relieved... What kind of obsession is it that makes me so willing to be for you, even though it hurts me?
I have sketched and traced your face carefully with a pen, and I have also left a little bit of your words clear.
The brushstrokes I once sketched were so meticulous that if I painted one more stroke, I would be afraid of messing up the reality of your face. In a daze, my dull brushstrokes couldn't fix the faint smile in the most beautiful arc, and I realized... those were lips that I couldn't draw.
Perhaps every word I ever said made you laugh or cry, and made you laugh wildly and crazy. Indeed, that is the victory of your gamble, and you are its ultimate winner. Only this memory flows in different shades in my time, but it always carries an unrepentant sincerity...
From beginning to end, maybe I have never changed my stupidity. I can only say: If time goes back again, my choice will still be the same for you. It would be foolish to make a mistake. No complaints.
I once thought - maybe there was a moment when the thickness of kapok had bent your branches. Looking at her face that tried so hard to bloom for you, has your heart been moved? Moved her wandering but unwilling to give up and change the persistence?
"Every Breath You Take" is a song you have listened to before, and it is also a song I have been listening to. There are bits of love in the song, but it’s still the past and present in the memory. The affectionate and gentle melody accompanies the verses of the song. Can I understand it as the melody that once moved you? Can it be regarded as a step you have also lost? Can it also be regarded as a feeling that you have never expressed clearly?
The second-person restraint in that song may be a setting you leave in your heart for a certain girl, but it has never been a byte that belongs to me. In the end, only I am still finding the contentment I once had in that song, and only I am still wandering around in the passing time.
I have wanted to erect a board to block the care more than once, but my thoughts trickled through the cracks of the board. Some things are still growing slowly, such as my longing for you, and my feelings for you, which cannot be let go or forced. What cannot be reduced is just this pale but ever-full concern, nourished bit by bit with longing until it grows up.
How much you want kapok to leave a hazy impression on your branches, and keep its beauty that does not want to be ruined on your branches. It's like what once went well but goes against your will: Whether you think about it or not, Yizhou, please don't come and meet me. ——On the edge that you can't see, waiting for the years to erode the memory of her once blooming, waiting for time to grow old and the years she can't forget, and finally let her rest in the foundation close to the source of your life, writing for you." It turns into spring mud and protects flowers."
Every woman who passes through your life will eventually become the origin of your loneliness - that is what you once said. My wandering was filled with unspeakable pain. If the pain is short-lived, stay away. However, I don't want to write down the depth of the loneliness. You know, it would be desolate to go alone in such a season.
The road of memories is the gentleness of the torrent, the heart of longing is the contact that is waiting for contact but always takes the initiative, but I have not thought... one day, you will also pass by me. life. Perhaps, perhaps, one has already foreseen the outcome, but wants to delay it indefinitely.
I remember I asked you: Will we, like them, gradually fade away and no longer have any contact?
If she can no longer have this plainness, if even ordinaryness is about to be lost, can she still retain the memory that once bloomed on the branches in the years when her memory has not yet aged?
Forgive me for these nonsensical thoughts, and forgive me for putting them together in a messy way.
I would like to have a ride as a substitute for walking, and soak in the passionate mist and rain on the first floor of the city where you live. Let this rain-soaked mood shed a hearty tear!
If time is considerate, I would only like to be a green bird singing softly in your branches, sitting quietly on your branches, watching the flowers bloom season after season, just watching The singing and dancing bees and butterflies swarmed again the next year. The beauty of spring and the fruits of autumn are waiting for you forever, and you will no longer have the years to hold up flower branches to attract bees and butterflies...
(2)
I always thought that autumn has not passed yet. It turns out that winter has arrived...
I heard that a typhoon hit the Beihai during the past few days, and it also caused a few days of slightly cold rain in Yizhou, just offshore. The sudden drop in temperature brings a chill to the skin...
The autumn in Yizhou is like a sky bathed in rain, covered with a thin layer of gray, as if twilight is approaching, but also as if it is clinging to Into the silence of nightfall. The flowers and leaves of the redbud have fallen all over the tree-shaded school road and become desolate again.
I finally understand the sorrow of people who are addicted to literature, just like your sentence, "It is difficult for people who are too sensitive to words to find happiness." Just like this, I am still thinking about your words. A kapok plant may be burdened by your words, but it is my inevitable marriage. Being separated but still staying is also my final ending.
When I first remember this mood, my schedule was a bit special. It was November 2013, Monday, which was also the time when autumn entered winter. The time had passed eleven not long ago. The calendar seems to have turned to page eleven.
For many things, maybe it is never the fear of not being able to get through it, but the fear of letting it pass after all, even though it is clearly lingering about those people and things.
Twenty years of light and shadow, twenty years of separation are like seeing each other in one day. Time flies by like a white horse, years are in a hurry, and people are also in a hurry.
Every day is the same, the sky is still the same blue sky, and the water is still the same blue reflecting the sky, dark blue and light blue, constantly changing between light and dark. The so-called "Singles' Day" is just a coincidental gathering of all the "1"s on this day, disrupting the unchanging rhythm of moving forward. The "single" in this schedule has become a celebration of one or two people in the shadow, a festival in the eyes of the beholder, with a bit of joy or relief, high-profile and clear rendering, so even I have been in the same ambiguity for twenty years. Suddenly, I can feel its specialness. For an "single" person like me, can this be considered a celebration of twenty years of "freedom"? However, after such a farce ended, it felt shabby and a bit desolate, and the desolation was too special.
Like it, after all, it still cannot be the belonging of love. Maybe love is the implication of language, or maybe love has never existed before...
I often follow familiar steps and form a habit over time. I still think that the habitual thoughts are poisonous, and I always think that the habit is poisonous. The pace is difficult to change. In fact, as long as the habit survives a few days of "unaccustomedness", the former unaccustomed will eventually develop into another habit, and change is no longer difficult.
In this only space, I have formed the habit of looking for you with a thin line of reality, perhaps, just because I am used to having you. It's not a rhythm that can't be changed. I just don't want to go too hastily in your life. I want to stay in your wilderness and plant a grassland for you. Maybe, one day, when my intensity has not dissipated, I will have enough endurance to capture the reins of that wild horse.
In the years when you are about to leave, can you see my wandering? Can you see my wandering steps and the somewhat messy marks left behind?
Do you know that you have always been the reality that I want to maintain. In this autumn, before the curtain has been lowered, and before my mood has cooled down, I suddenly feel helpless and confused. The pursuit of words and the outline of words are a habit. I fell into a pure and beautiful dream, but I forgot that this dream was too strangely beautiful and too beautiful to be true. And your heart will never be my reality...
You said - in the next life, you would like to be a flower, only responsible for beauty.
Rouge is like a flower, stained for a lifetime; love is a dream, and it is separated in the end.
If your youth is destined to grow old together with time, from now on, it will be far away from you. We still have to walk the hesitant journey alone, lingering and never leaving, just like a dream, true love is in vain. In the end, it is nothing more than a romantic dream. The finally broken glass burned the eyes in the sun, but in the dark years, it could still retain the sparkle of tears. However, after all, it is just a phantom that suddenly seems like a dream.
If there really is an afterlife, if it can still involve love in another life.
Then, in the next life... I would like to be a tree, rooted in the stability under my feet, only looking for that simple stability, and not to be involved in the wanderings again.
Will you in that life bloom among my branches and bloom with all your beauty? When the flowers bloom, will you still hold the posture that makes me look up to you? Can you understand the hard work I put in with my head up?
I miss you so much that I can never write a letter with an address. Mid-term is approaching, and our agreement has reached its expiration date... In my dream, I extended it indefinitely to a far, far future.
The expectations for November should come to an incomplete end after the middle of this month, right? Even if it is not delayed, I know that you will not come in this season... Why didn't I understand? But keep a dream to look forward to later, just keep a relationship without the ending, just keep a person, waiting to clarify his future later.
For single people, 11.11 should be a time for one person to enjoy alone. The lost connection is the only day that should not find anyone as a lonely companion. Quietly ruminating on the time a person has passed, the actions that cannot be changed, and then continue to move forward alone towards another period of time. I finally settled down and regained the peace I once had. Without the passionate past, the rush has become calmer, and the intensity has become almost deep. I will still miss you, but the madness has eased, and I no longer look for the madness of dialing fifty-six times a month.
Without the traction of the phone, the so-called semi-reality will eventually return to the empty world, and I will no longer be able to touch your reality.
On this day, I controlled myself and never looked for you.
Why did the longing for your family come to you? Missing Lingchi, only when I wake up from a nap, will I pick up the weight of it again, and pick up the memory that I want to hide but can't bear to hide. It is sealed and restrained, but it cannot be shaved off its thorn-like sharpness, the pain like a silver needle pricking the fingertips, and the clarity of memory.
Your unusual identity demonstrates your extraordinary talents. The beauties you have captured are so pure and holy, but why is your heart so unpredictable? Can't see clearly?
Your friends say you are very dedicated. I know that your love is not for me. Only I still know secretly: You are devoted to me, not just for this reason. Did your heart ever stop for me in those years?
Once upon a time, I foolishly thought you were my special case, foolishly fell in, foolishly pious, and finally came to that non-exceptional ending.
The red ribbon that half tied the marriage in the temple has become a memory left on the bedside.
As autumn enters the winter season, after all, the longing cannot be cooled down. Maybe the winter can be deeper, so that the temperature will dissipate before spring comes, and the kapok in full bloom will no longer be seen...
"Rong, a person who once liked him clearly knows that he is still alive. A woman who is willing to believe him despite being deceived to the extreme."
Have you ever gotten used to the time when you are no longer touched by a dragonfly?
Everything may be over, and life will return to its original point, back to more than a month ago, when we didn’t know each other. Maybe nothing has changed, but some things are still a little different.
Memory buried deep in my heart...
The memory of kapok is a memory that has been dried by time due to your passion. You cut it out bit by bit, but you don’t feel the pain. .
I once believed that you would be the light in my darkness, and I was destined to depend on you for my existence, and those cold and gloomy corners would also receive blood-like warmth from you. I believe that you, who I once believed in, have always kept your unjust promises, but this has destined this plot to end hurriedly in a fruitless expectation, in the middle of the year before I miss you.
“She said that she was very melancholy, so melancholy that she lost the thinness of her youth.”
“I said, if youth is as thin as cicada wings, then melancholy is the passing of time. "
Perhaps, this is the tragedy of us literary lovers - in each other's time, with the longing that life is like words, we intentionally bring those words into life to show ourselves. Extraordinary, but I feel that it exaggerates the "sincerity" of life and loses the original reality.
Just imagine, if the mark is too deep, will the cicada’s wings be broken and it will never be able to fly again?
After all, it was you who alleviated the poison of this "world" for me. Whether it was virtual and real time and space, or the dream of poetry and literature... everything was shattering. I have gradually felt the pace of its gradual demise, and everything about us has gradually lost its syllables.
Now, I finally understand: from beginning to end, it’s not that I’m not good enough to deserve you, but that you have long lost my qualifications and prerequisites to match you.
The ink has become messy, the flowers have withered, and the dream has faded. As the winter season deepens, the temperature tends to drop to freezing temperatures. The flowers and leaves of kapok are no longer as crystal clear as tears of autumn rain and dew.
When I personally stripped you from my name and stored it in my memory, I burst into tears...
If there is a next time, if I still love you, no matter what I will fall in love with a man whose eyebrows are dyed like ink and who is full of love. If I love, I will only love the love in his words.
Suddenly, even the words I once loved have become a pain that I can’t bear to touch anymore.
Many years later, maybe I will wonder: Could this be considered my first love?
A blurry fantasy like a dream, as red and extreme as kapok withered like blood...
(3)
This scene is short but continuous The farce that has been going on for so long finally has a complete spoiler. You acted the plot so brilliantly, but I was so painful in my dream that I could no longer shed tears.
Now, I no longer know how to hate someone.
Perhaps, one day, I will be like you, forgetting who I was and the love in my memory.
If you had not come
The stories in the book would not have happened
The flowers in the dream would not have fallen
The ancient road would have been long and winding
Green grass on the road
I will fly your beautiful Qiong Yao with the paper kite I made in the passing years
If you don’t come
The peach blossoms in March will not bloom
The green plums in June are not long
The river is gurgling
The turtle doves are cooing
Waiting in the season
The bananas are green and the cherries are red
The years of waiting
The fallen flowers in your dream are all over the place
The poetry paper on my desk is thick A few stacks
--"If You Don't Come/*Xuan"
There was once a prosperous road, looking back, the flowers and leaves scattered along the way are now naked and clear.
The poem paper on your desk is an acrostic poem with a suppressed rhyme. It is scattered in pieces in front of my autumn window, and it also wins the clarity of my tears. The dream has withered, the flowers have fallen, leaving only the chapter on my desk. The thoughts accumulated like snow along the way, crushed layer upon layer, have already become thick and heavy.
How can the flowing water care about the flowers? It stumbles and rolls up the withered flowers evenly in the waves.
Waiting for the dawn of the next season, and for the flowers to bloom in spring, please remember: Plant a piece of grassland for me, and by the way... draw the morning light of galloping horses...
(4)
I am not a flower-burial girl, but I have all her sadness.
What I buried was not a flower, but a whole cycle of summer and autumn stories...
That was a scene where we had no time to wait for the flowers to bloom.