Essay: Wounded City 1
This is a wounded city. People are ready to travel far. Soon there will be fewer and fewer people here. Let’s do it next Take a look at this article "Hurt the City".
Neon lights on Bathurst Street
Like elves dancing in the dark
Through the empty streets in the early hours of Sunday morning
It’s the rumble of the old tram
The bars and nightclubs on Queen’s Road West
There are always endless songs
Only this coffee on the corner House
Keeping the watery night and deserted
Will you come at 5:30 in the morning
Order a cup of black coffee and sit with me until dawn< /p>
I will put a bouquet of hyacinths in front of the window
Look at your bright eyes through it
Will you still come at half past five in the morning
p>
Order a cup of black coffee and enjoy the quiet time with me
I will play an old song for you
Count the stars in the Milky Way along with it
< p> You still haven't come at 5:30 in the morningSunday, I don't wanna say goodbye!
But the coffee is cold
The hyacinth petals have fallen
People are ready to travel far
This is a Prose about the wounded city: The wounded city 2
Is there a city that makes you feel pain when you touch it? Is there a person who makes you scarred?
Everyone has a city in his heart, either a wounded city or a phantom city; everyone has a person deep in his memory, either a beloved person or a close friend.
That city makes you yearn for and indulge in endlessly; that person makes you dream about it.
In the past, we fantasized about being together in that beautiful city and enjoying the world together. The helpless years and time, like water, turn into a sharp knife, cutting off our appearance, cutting off our youth, cutting off our remaining dreams, weakening our feelings, leaving only incomplete and fragmented memories. The fragments of memory fell to the ground, mottled all over, stained with the sorrow of youth and frivolity.
Memory is a sharp knife that inadvertently opens the wound of the past. Although the wound is small, it is really painful.
In other words, pain only lasts a hundred days, but the memory about you can stay in the deepest part of my heart forever. If you don't touch it or think about it, it will be quiet and honest. But once you touch it and think about it, it will once again make you scarred and burst into tears.
Now, the city that I once yearned for and was obsessed with because of that boy has become painful to touch because of that boy, and I have lost the courage to go there again. The willows swaying around the embankment are swaying in the wind, full of emotional ink, writing infinite sorrow on the water, but unable to tell it to the east wind; the tung blossoms are dyed with lonely sorrow, hovering alone in the air, quietly falling in memory On the land, the rain of lovesickness is falling, but it is far worse than not knowing when the rain will stop in my heart.
Memory is the red bean buried deep in the heart; hurting the city will always hurt when touched. Prose: Shangcheng 3
The lost boy in the pen dances his fingertips in the desolate road of Shangcheng.
Forgot how it started, just remember that it was sweet at the beginning, and then you got tired, used to it, and abandoned it. And I can only feel helpless, lonely and desperate.
Once upon a time, for a brief period of time, I thought we both loved each other. But, now I know, that is not falling in love, that is lying to myself.
How I longed to be with you. My leaving was so helpless.
But now, I am wandering between forgiveness and despair. The only feeling is hurt-hurt-hurt
New wounds cover old wounds. They cannot be covered or repaired. They can only be used. Time to slowly recuperate.
Maybe I’m still waiting. It's just that my waiting is not for you to come back, but to find an excuse not to leave.
Waiting may be difficult, but hurting is easy.
You don’t know that it’s not just your people who have left me, but also my heart.
If life were just like the first time we met, it would have been ordinary at that time.
Thank you for coming into my life.
The wounded city under the eyelashes, passing by, whose scenery and whose heart.
The so-called eternity is just a misunderstanding.
Hiding on the streets that are beyond redemption, watching your smile seep through the water is hard to recover.
So lonely, soul-crushing.
To whom do I sing songs of departure, to whom do I speak love words, to whom do I write about the end of the world.
The decadent student from Huancheng is lonely and boundless in the space of memory. Prose: Shangcheng 4
The breeze was blowing gently, and a few fallen leaves were drifting in the wind. There was a chill, and I felt that autumn had arrived. Golden October is the harvest season, but in Shenzhen’s autumn there are no fallen leaves, and the harvest will not be very abundant.
I have been feeling melancholy recently, and I don’t know why. There is no gain or loss, but a kind of sadness seeps out of my heart, and it has always been on my brows, and I can’t get rid of it.
Having nothing to do and not knowing what to pursue is practical. The usual dreams wither in life, become silent, and then disappear. I don’t know whether the dream abandoned me or I have sunk.
My heart began to feel numb. Xiaoxiao’s green smoke could no longer take away my sorrow, and could only temporarily numb my brain. Being alone, the world seems so strange, as if I have never known it before.
No longer angry, no longer arrogant, nothing makes me angry or happy anymore. Alone, familiar streets, neon lights flashing, pedestrians coming and going, but everything is so indifferent, so cold that it makes people freeze and suffocate. There have been too many pursuits in the reinforced concrete city,
But everything has drifted away with the autumn wind, and I will never look back, and I can’t even feel it. Looking at the face in the past, the skin is still yellow, but there is still a thick mask hidden under the thin skin. No one can guess the thoughts behind the bright eyes. Lifting heavy steps, I moved around like the autumn wind, aimlessly, feeling that the cold air had no breath of the earth. I opened my hands, wanting to hug something, but I felt so helpless.
It is as sad as the desperate wailing of the winter birds on the ground when they were young. I want to wake myself up, but I find that my heart is full of scars, and I can no longer scratch them. The eyes are full of green, but I don't feel that it is full of vitality. It is just a foil for this cold city. In fact, it is more desolate.
Happiness, anger and sorrow are vividly performed in this city. Life is like a stage. Who is watching, who is performing, who is playing whose happiness, and who is watching whose sadness. Shenzhen is just like this. If you are sad, please be indifferent and forget it; if you are happy, please invite your close friends to share it and write down a happy page. Prose: Shangcheng 5
A lamp alone accompanies desolation. I write to express my sorrow, but I don’t know where to express my sorrow.
Yes. You and I are just passing by in the vast world, or not. I am the white cloud after autumn, gathering and dispersing forever, living in the pain of meeting and parting.
Although the moon waxes and wanes, the sky is cloudy and sunny, but why am I stuck in endless sadness forever.
If life was just the first time we met, why should I be immersed in the pain of the moment of separation forever? The mistake was why God gave me the most beautiful thing, but he wanted to take it back. Let me guard this door that will never open. Let me wait painfully for the last bus that will never turn back. Tonight, for whom are you, separated from each other, showing your face like a hibiscus emerging from the water? In this life, for whom am I walking through this life alone with my gray residual warmth?
Isn’t youth just like: dream once, suffer for a while, and then sigh.
Then why do I leave this short flower scene to regret this life? Tonight is the desolation of the bustling city. The night is still the same, but I am no longer the same person. I raise a cup full of melancholy and get drunk this night, hoping that when I wake up, everything will return to the beauty of the past, but I Discover that the past is still the past and has not changed. It’s just that right and wrong are obsolete and a story of the past. Why bother thinking about the feelings of this life, who will heal whose pain? Now, in this autumn season, I can only sigh Xiao Changye.
In this sad season. Everywhere I go in this lost city, I feel so sad looking at the falling autumn leaves. It's so poignant...
Yes! There is no turning back in life. If you miss it, you will never come back. I just don’t want to miss it again, so I wait hard and pursue hard. I just don't want to walk far away alone in this confusing world.
Why write the words so sadly and imprison yourself in the city of sorrow? Who gave the words a sad soul and turned this beautiful city into a city of sorrow! Prose: Shangcheng 6
Even if you miss the delicate narcissus blooming in the water, don’t forget that there is spring in the wild lilies in the lonely corner of the valley.
I wrote many, many poems about you
I wrote many, many things about you
I also wrote many, many complaints about you
Later I realized that I was wrong, I put heavy words on you
You have never seriously read deeply, and you have never seriously tasted it
You think I am complaining or hating you
It even makes you afraid, evasive, and unsteady
That is my heart that travels between the lines!
For more than a year, she wandered in confusion, searching and groping at the door of someone’s soul, but she never had the courage to break in.
She was afraid that she would damage another person by inadvertently breaking in. It used to be a quiet life
Now she is nineteen years old and will fall in love and get married soon at her twenties, 21st, 22nd.
The person she hoped to marry before was you. In the future, maybe the chance will be only a few percent
So she hopes to sneak into his heart for the last time and leave footprints of different shades. Prose: Hurt City 7
One hurts, one hurts With white hair, one step leads to nothing.
Every thought brings new hatred, every dream brings about an unexpected life.
——"Hurt City"
Su Beibei first met the man named "Mo Fei" in the summer of last year. There wasn't enough rain that summer to wash away the blazing heat in Beijing, and it didn't bring any coolness.
Beibei looked at the dripping raindrops outside the window. The raindrops fell from the eaves and hit the balcony. I don't know if it was the wind blowing from afar, but her voice was trembling. It came to her through the noise of the children next door, blowing on her white and delicate face.
She lowered her head and saw an unread message in the chat software on her mobile phone.
Could it be in distant Xi’an.
Beibei’s hometown is in Hebei. She knows the word remote better than anyone else: remote is just a concept, just a general explanation of distance.
Beibei has worked hard alone in Beijing for many years. Because of her work and career, she rarely goes home. She had to sit on the train for several hours every time she went home. Perhaps it was then that she discovered that the so-called distance is just a concept measured in time.
And what about time?
Time is just an abstract concept, a continuous and sequential expression of the movement and changes of all matter. Time is also the most gentle existence in the world. It can cleanse a person's heart, cleanse a city, and cleanse everything in the world in a long time. But time is also the most ruthless existence in the world. It can make a person, a city, and everything be discarded, buried, and eventually destroyed in a long period of time.
So how about using time to measure distance?
Beibei and Mo Fei had a great time chatting. She is witty, humorous and considerate. No woman can withstand such sincere care and care when she is tired from work. Beibei actually doesn’t know: Beijing is Beijing and can never become Xi’an.
When Beibei said this, I was on a business trip in Lanzhou and was watching the moon climb up the branches. The wind shook a leaf, withering away the entire autumn time. I asked Beibei: "Have you ever been to Xi'an? I have been. It is an ordinary city, nothing special."
Beibei sent a message and wrote: "I I thought I could stand by the moat and look at the city wall that night, but all I saw was the noisy crowd outside Zhengzhou Railway Station."
When Beibei was busy with a big case. , we can finally have a few days of leisure time. She bought a high-speed train ticket and drove to Xi'an, which she had long admired. She fantasized about the city wall surrounded by a moat, sitting in Yanta Square and watching the beautiful fountain, admiring a landscape hanging in the gate of the academy, and finally drowned in Mo Fei's chest.
Beibei endured it until the train had traveled many miles, and Beijing behind him became farther and farther away, disappearing into the gloom of nightfall. She made the first call to Mo Fei, but no one answered. Then she called again, but no one answered.
I looked at the messages she sent, and from all the messages I could get a guess: Could it be that she didn’t see it.
Beibei stopped going to school after finishing his freshman year of high school. At the age of eighteen, he went to Beijing, a densely populated city, to work hard. She has cried, laughed, suffered, and been happy. I know everything about her, from her mouth and from other people's mouths.
I am like an observer standing on the wall, but she is surrounded by the wall of life, hard work, struggle, failure, success, sadness, and happiness. I want to be a follower, not just like a passerby who listens to her stories and then laughs them off. I also thought that as the lord of this besieged city, I could let her out of the city to find scenery and happiness.
Could it be that he didn’t want her to come to Xi’an, or that what Beibei did was not what he wanted, or that it was not what he usually said, in fact, he didn’t like it Beibei.
In fact, maybe he made an excuse when he called me back, when the train was about to arrive in Zhengzhou. Beibei got off the train and stood outside the crowded station, watching the street lights brighten the road, and the elongated shadows fishing on the ground made him feel lonely. Loneliness jumps onto the palm of your hand, penetrates into your skin, and reaches your heart.
Beibei bought a ticket back to Beijing, but hesitated. Some unwilling factors are at work in the bottom of my heart, and some unfulfilled yearnings form various pictures in my mind, each of which is a landscape.
Landscapes are suitable for expressing feelings, while memories are only suitable for collection.
A sudden figure passed by in a trance. The mobile phone in Beibei's hand was stolen. The thief stepped over the guardrail in a few steps and disappeared around the corner of the alley. Beibei didn't think too much. He used his ID card to get the train ticket, walked into the train station without hesitation, and drove to Beijing.
I asked Beibei: "Have you ever looked for him again? Or have you contacted him again?"
Beibei said: "Yes."
I returned to Beijing, bought a new mobile phone, and purchased a new number. Beibei learned about Mo Fei's phone number from her friend, but she was still unwilling to accept this fact and wanted to keep him.
I always feel that Beibei is too stupid and seems to have no dignity at all in love. Some people say: After breaking up, you should turn around and stride forward without looking back. And I recalled every bit of the past, and then I discovered: I am no different from Beibei, and each of us was once Beibei.
The nights in Beijing are always illuminated by countless lights, but Beibei always lies in bed, counting down how many happy moments are left that he will never forget. She finally understood: using time to measure distance, it turned out to be really far away.
This is a very sad fact. We live in busy cities and gradually lose time to seek happiness. And every city is a besieged city. We are surrounded by endless time and cannot escape. I can't be the city lord, I'm just a flag-bearer. When one day she doesn't know what to do, I'm willing to raise the white flag and surrender outside the city, teaching her to let go of the vicissitudes of life that are destined to pass away. Prose: Shangcheng 8
What I want is not you, but the only one.
——Inscription.
Perhaps I was obsessed with what I didn’t deserve, which was a family, a country, a country, a country, a country, mountains and rivers. Suddenly, when I looked back, I saw no one was alone. From then on, the world was accompanied by white clothes, and my eyes were like a boat.
Perhaps you could see him sitting at the knee of a beautiful woman, drinking three glasses of wine, and then walking away after hearing a greeting.
The emperor's drunkenness is a benevolent favor, but he is not the only one.
There are only a handful of close friends in the world. The last person I want to betray is someone else, but I prefer to betray you.
——Inscription.
The most unfair exchange in the world is that one person takes the blame for the other. No matter whether a beauty is a disaster, there is always one person who bears the downturn, and the other person laughs at it.
A beauty smiles but her bones wither, and she overwhelms the country and her people.
Hold your hand and grow old together with your son.
How could I know that the promise turned into dust, and when I turned around, I saw the same person again.
Empty defense, empty city.
This gradually cooling and remaining warmth is evidence of crime given by God.
——Inscription.
Since ancient times, there have been many sins, but one is good and the other is evil.
Once upon a time, when the war broke out, I prayed for peace under the tree. With a pair of pious eyes, I could see everything in the mirror.
Among the ruins, broken helmets and broken armor were stained with blood. I covered my eyes, wishing not to see them.