I have lost the memory about it, because it exists in the texture of the years in an elusive way. Although the delicate texture has been smoothed by countless pairs of hands that have left. .
Maybe they can’t take anything away, so they want to leave something behind.
The simple wish, in that rough memory, is long and rough.
It may still remember them.
Although, maybe they will come back, or they may never come back again.
As the wind enters this alley, the number of people becomes increasingly scarce, and each other’s gazes become increasingly unfamiliar. The moss in the cracks between the stones uses the emptiness as nourishment, and grows and spreads into a strange home.
The sun shines on the old wooden door, making it warm and traceless, like a small pot of wine warming in a clay pot.
Empty and silent, like the wind in late spring.
The door is closed at dusk.
The skinny branches split the sunlight into fragments, like the language of dusk passing through the mottled walls, falling off trivially, and making a rustling sound under the feet. It was the repetition of old stories.
Empty silence lingers in the deep alleys, fermenting like wine.
The feeling of sorting through memories is like sunlight flowing through a sieve.
The alley under the light and shadow is moving, and time is slowly tilting.
The perspective of memories changes thousands of times.
It seems that I forgot it at the same time as I remembered it. Only autumn comes as expected.
Under the sun, the delicate texture cannot be tolerated. What smoothes it is actually human obsession.
Perhaps before they leave, they will remember that in the future when they are no longer there, their windows will be opened and closed by the monsoon, creaking and swaying, and the boring sound will rub against the tiredness of the passing people at night. nerves.
Those who are in a hurry will suddenly find that they are actually sensitive and fragile.
A street lamp in front of Qingxiang is like an empty eye. The pale road beneath it is like the hallucination of insomnia. Submerged in dark corners.
Green Lane. Around dark corners, anchored.
When I was a child, I was afraid of it. Because who said that the innermost room is haunted by ghosts.
It is easy to believe things that no one has seen before.
It is not made up by adults to scare children. But it is spread among children for no reason.
The spreading desolation appeared in the eyes of the children and transformed into mysterious and terrifying rumors.
A few years ago, I walked in for the first time. But it is an ordinary experience.
There is no suspense, just the most bleak journey.
The long and narrow alleys are filled with moss-scented wind, which is moist and like obscure language. In a few scattered houses, I occasionally saw strange eyes flashing past the windowsills.
Qingxiang is very long, and the stone road is intermittent. There seems to be something ambiguously hesitating.
While tossing and turning, I suddenly saw the house where the legendary ghost lives.
Two-story building. The blue bricks are ancient. The door is locked. Keep the rusty silence.
There is a clump of bamboos on its side. It’s still lush in the middle of winter.
The empty windows are like a pair of gloomy eyes. Obsession.
That’s all.
Through the crack in the door, I saw the dilapidated stairs and a beam of sunlight in the room between the broken tiles. The silence cast several bright spots on the stairs.
Occasionally, the wind bamboos sway, as if someone has just left.
The space is empty and one thought is wandering.