I hope to go to the north. North is a plain and heavy word, which covers a large area of land that is better than, including abandoned villages, villages, crowds or flying geese. They have a long history and have never changed in the touch of sunshine and the kiss of years. Their life and death are too light to be detected. But I feel their presence, just like I can feel the wind blowing in the field. I think, in the season when the leaves are yellow, the doors of old houses are closed, and the red paint falls off, the sky on the gray-blue lush plateau is unparalleled, the dry air and clear streets, or the sweet smell of sugar-coated haws, and the old hutong where children can play behind the wall, these free lives and events will always be as slow and leisurely as the leaves of old ginkgo, towards an endless and unfocused future. However, behind them, endless huge and mysterious stories can be hidden, whether it is the love of a young man or the death of an old man. Their expressionless faces are as unknown as the last words of life.
Why are we alive? What are we living for?
I've always liked the feeling of the 1970s and 1980s. For example, in the afternoon, a group of naughty boys and their small ball games appeared on time in an alley in old Beijing, or young people walking hand in hand in the Woods of a university. They only wear dacron or khaki, hand in canvas army green sneakers, or the gray buildings of those universities in Beijing, painted with green lime half a person's height, and the ground polished with cement. I am like a fetish, thinking about how to make these meaningful images into movies over and over again, and let them form my thoughts. We will never change our extravagant hopes for the future and our memories of regret after disappointment. Life just passed. It is heavier and shorter than a flower.
When I was wandering in the bookstore, I saw the cover advertisement of a reference book:
The topic network is long, sparse and not leaking.
I smiled and put it back. When I walked out of the bookstore, the south of the slight cold season was already brightly lit. I think I still need to make such a book. After I finish, I will take the exam. After the exam, I can decide whether I can leave here for the north.
This is all in the past.
I said to Wheat, Wheat, I study history, and I am very sad. Wheat said, I will go to his hometown to see those old hutongs soon. I thought she was joking again. Two weeks later, I got a call from Mama Wheat. She asked, Shihe, do you know where the wheat went? You are her closest friend. You should help your aunt. Wheat was heartbroken and had to go. ...
My brain is growling. I think maybe she really doesn't fit in here anymore. She should leave. Then one night, I got a call from Wheat. She said it was snowing heavily in Beijing. I'm in a public phone booth. I didn't bring enough clothes. I'm very cold ... it's already cold. I miss you, Shihe. Don't tell your mother. Promise me.
I didn't speak.
She finally left-even ran away. We once talked about going on a long trip together. Find a farther place, stay for a short time, and then continue to leave. I just regard it as a distant dream, too far away to expect it to be touched and realized.
For example, at dusk, waiting in the desert filled with yellow sand, watching the dust sing faintly in the setting sun; Or watch Stephen Daldry's movies in the middle of the night and watch all the worries and sadness in the camera; The next day, I went to a far place and went to the seaside. Birds sing in Greek, the sea breeze is slightly salty, and time is as slow as a needle and thread in grandma's hand. Seriously spend an afternoon preparing a dinner, inviting a local girl with brown-red hair to enjoy it, then going for a walk, finding a hermit crab with a transparent body, sitting down and playing with it, and spending the night. Wearing a light blue striped cotton shirt, blowing the wind that caressed Helen's hair two thousand years ago, she soaked her feet in water until she caught a cold. There are stars in the evening, writing poems on the beach. A chinemys reevesii swam away quietly.
If possible, take a ship with a big mast, go to the westernmost part of the Mediterranean, see the beautiful Iberian women, see the black roses watered by the hot land of the Mediterranean and the mythical air, pick a flower that smells better than their eyelashes, think about who to give it to, and finally give it to yourself. Watching it wither and regret in a glass of water is very similar to Meryl's crying in Sophie's Choice. Holding her hand, accompany her to the dying cinema to watch the "Mr. Luo Yu's Holiday" shown for the first time 107, listen to the French pronunciation that I can't understand, then go to sleep, wake up and go home. The night is as thick as the condensate on the oil painting. Beware of thieves on the road.
Or the Blue Mountains in Tuscany, or the Lumiere brothers' cafe. A fallen leaf floated to my boat along the left bank of the Seine. It comes from a pasture in the Alps. There was a princess writing a love letter in a medieval castle, and a down-and-out painter begged me. I went to the tomb of Lenny Riventhal and brought a bunch of daisies to Claude and the real film poet Gaman. He sang softly and told me to look at the bright moon on the rocks in the back garden.
"... the pearl fish in the ocean of love ... the gentle waves wash away the bird of death ... the lost boy ... sleeps forever ... hugs tightly ... kisses with salty lips ... our names will be forgotten ... no one will remember ... so I put a kingfisher in front of your grave ... a piece of blue ..."
That's Gaman's poem, Guo Shan said, "At the end of the screen, there is only a piece of blue, and it sticks to the last second. This is the color of the sea, the sky and delphinium, and it is also the color of freedom, dreams and love, or the color of the life of a shocking genius wrapped in a shroud ... "His blue life is as gentle as the breeze passing through provence lavender fields. In honor of him, I
..... Go dancing in the square with a group of children when you leave. When she appeared in the second block, she ran to kiss with a smile and went home for dinner at night, which drove her crazy. Life was like a light wheel. When she falls asleep, say goodbye to her quietly.
Get up and go to bed. The stars move around.
The wheat was gone, and I didn't say goodbye to her. I left the Bible with a soft black cover here. Including old and new contracts. Every night I put it on the bed and turn on the light to read. It also reminds me of Virginia Woolf, the girl. In Stephen's film, she said to her husband in her suicide note:
"Remember the time we walked together, remember love, remember time."
Then, she walked into a river in Sussex, northern England, filled her coat pocket with stones and told stories to the fish in the water forever. The river in the film is clear and cheerful, with lush plants and beautiful water plants on both sides. She came in wearing red shoes like a magician.
"Let's remember the years we passed together, remember love, and remember time."
Wheat said, give me a way and I'll teach you how to go.
So she went to find this road herself. When I walk home alone, I can always hear her calling me, Shihe, I'll give you a way. Do you want to go by yourself? I started, but there were only flashing lights in the whole street. At that moment, I knew that all the uncompromising dreams supported by our youthful blood had fallen in pieces this night, like a battlefield in flight, with rivers of blood, which was terrible.
Mads, I have no choice.
When I got home, my mother said at the dinner table that Wheat's mother came to see her this afternoon, and Wheat's mother cried very sadly. Shihe, if you know where the wheat went and helped your parents, you don't know that it is not easy to be a parent. I want to say, mom, you don't know the difficulty of being a child. But I swallowed it anyway.
The next day I called Maizi's mother. I said, don't worry, aunt, the wheat in Beijing is very good. Then I put the phone down gently.
On the day when Mai came back, I went to the airport to meet her. She is very thin. She came up to me and said, Shihe, I know you have to say, forgive me. I did it for your own good.
Then I saw her sad smile. She left with her mother. I stared at her back, as if enjoying a pantomime with a definite ending. The freezing rain in the cold season is tied to the black velvet at night.
My heart echoed with empty cries. Like a crack in the end.
The bible says there is no righteous man, not one. But I believe I will be forgiven and redeemed.
Every night, when I read the Bible sentence by sentence, I think of wheat and say, I want to trust someone, very much. But everyone is busy in this world, and everyone is so embarrassed. I can't bear to ask for other people's care. If you expect absolute forgiveness and warmth, it will be nothing after catching shadows. If we don't want to be disappointed in the world, the only way is not to place any hope on it. Shihe, remember, this is not despair, it is the only way to survive and the premise of happiness.
This year, Mai and I were only fifteen years old.
Many years later, I finally waited for this late trip. Being late has blurred the reason why I was eagerly looking forward to it. I heard the whistling horn across the ancient land of the Central Plains and across the Qinling Mountains full of bright snow. There are often low and shabby houses on both sides of the road. Old people and children look at the roaring train, and their silent standing posture reminds people of their love for this mountain for generations. Perhaps in their view, every train that crosses mountains and mountains is a memory carrier for the funeral, just like these years that have passed quietly, passing through their lives, leaving only old bodies and faded memories.
I saw the endless sunset on the Loess Plateau, the gurgling blood after the Yellow River tore the green skin of the earth, and the endless bumps and depressions between heaven and earth, which gave people serious and calm comfort. My eyes are full of my father's breath.
These lands and people living on them seem to have enough resilience to resist the changes of time and space. Their plain and primitive life is the return of human nature.
Crossing North China, the warm fields are full of signs of life, but the bright and saturated colors will make you visually tired. I think of the distant Qingping Bay where Shi Fei was born, and those vivid experiences are deeply imprinted in our lives. This is an unprovable gratitude.
I am alone on this trip. A long time ago, I made an appointment with a child named Mai, but we both ignored the young waiting lightly and left ourselves to the boundless fate. Nothing is more cruel than fate. It is silent in the sadness and joy of our emotions, and then quietly closes its eyes in the shadow of the world. But we must go on and put on the stray shoes it gives us. Fortunately, when we promised, we did not stubbornly wait for its realization, so there was no disappointment and harm.
But Mads, where is she? Does she still refuse to forgive me? I feel very sad when I think about these problems. The Bible says that no one can save you except God.
PS: I finally stood in the city where Wheat left many years ago. It will snow heavily in winter, covering up the joys and sorrows of the past years. No one knows that there used to be a runaway child here. She went back and forth.
She has a clear face and long black hair like Mo Ju. When standing, there is a silent gesture, full of desire to escape.
She said that she had walked a long way in the heavy snow, found a mailbox and sent me a postcard.
But I didn't receive it.
Where is it?
But I suggest you buy books if you really like them ~