I please the world with pain: when I notice my body, it is old and weak. Pain is exchanged in many parts: stomach, arms, legs and fingers. I suspect that I am doing evil in this world and swearing at the blooming flowers.
I doubt that I love the night and despise the morning. Fortunately, some pains can be omitted: abandonment and loneliness. I am ashamed to say that I have been fooled for a long time: I really don't love them enough.
The afternoon in Hengdian Village happened to be sunny, shining on the top of the slope and a row of poplars. While taking a picture of a small pond, I also take a picture of the water plants beside the pond. Shine on the creeping ferns. Rape, wheat. Time is not smooth enough, divided by so many plants. Divided by cows, divided by ducks in the middle of the water.
I was divided by the gesture, and I was also divided. I spent half my life sharing it. Mother made a white hair out of these odds and ends. Only everything is jubilant-they constitute another spring. In this spring, we just warmed Hengdian Village again.
Goodbye, 20 14: like a hug in a foreign land: goodbye, my 20 14 is like the last farewell in a foreign land: goodbye, my 20 14 is slow and affectionate, and there is always someone behind me. When they waved, I thought there were still a few hours to waste. I think there is still a lot of time to waste.
A tree of magpies, a tree of sunshine, bid farewell to many people, and we will never see them again. May God bless you, and may I return to my hometown-a person who has no hometown and is pregnant with the next spring. It's not far from next spring, and there won't be an amiable sister to pick me up. But I thank those who have hurt me deeply.
Diary: I only exist here: frogs croak and there is no happiness at the bottom of my feet. This kind of happiness is the smell of new wheat in a tacky peasant woman's arms, the smell of honeysuckle, and the smell of residual sunshine on her pajamas. No one has knocked on my door for a long time, and the path is full of red. I quietly fell into this world, and will be quietly hidden in everything.
Sometimes sadness is always so precious: you are willing to give sympathy, pity, love and hate and leave only when you are sure of my existence. At the moment, the smell of cordate telosma penetrates through the window lattice, and the sound of insects is high and low. How many people have I met, in a world without a partner. I am so rich, heavier than a piece of wheat, but I just bow my head to accept the moonlight.