A lilac tree.
I didn't in my last life.
In a previous life, I was a girl.
A girl and some beautiful girls.
I was born in a quiet and elegant Jiangnan town. Mother is a beautiful woman, like all the girls in Jiangnan gouache painting, with a pure and smart face. I think I'm just like her. On the day I was born, my mother hugged me and looked at me with a smile. Father hugged us in front of the bed, and his face was full of smiles. He said to his mother, look how much our daughter looks like you and how beautiful she is.
Actually, I'm a bit like my father. Especially when I took a sip of my mouth and became stubborn, the two fine marks on my lips were just like when my father locked his eyebrows. This has also become one of the reasons why my mother hates me when I have an argument with her in the future.
I had a happy childhood in my last life.
If the small town in the south of the Yangtze River is light and dust-free, the years will flow quietly.
Father loves books, and there are books all over the wall at home. He is also good at oral sex. When I was very young, he often held me in his lap and blew me for a long time. I still clearly remember those days, when the yard was quiet, the wind gently brushed my delicate hair, the lilacs opened finely, and the fragrance of flowers was trivial and secretly dispersed. I looked up. My big eyes were black. I looked at my father and the Zhi Zhu flute in his hand. Gradually sleepy, and then slowly close your eyes and sleep in his arms. ...
However, such days cannot last forever. /kloc-when I was 0/2 years old, I was still a girl, and I just vaguely realized that there is a beautiful feeling in this world, called love. My father left me and my mother.
It was another woman who took my father from my mother and me.
She is mom's only girlfriend.
Actually, I don't hate her.
She is not as beautiful as her mother, but she has a very vivid face. I don't know why I don't hate her as much as my mother. On the contrary, I sometimes blame her for not being my mother. Whenever I have this idea in my heart, I hate myself and my unfaithfulness to my mother. )
She was a classmate of her mother's in middle school. Mother is almost her only friend because of her inactive nature.
She is also a bookworm, which makes her go home and talk to her father most of the time. And the reason why she often comes is to borrow and return books.
So I lost my father when 12 years old, and I lost him forever.
Mother forbade him to see me again. My father left the town where he lived for generations with his woman for the sake of his mother's lifelong hatred. I have never seen him since.
Mother's change is very obvious.
She destroyed all her father's things in the house, including the books on that wall.
She became more and more withdrawn. Besides going to work every day, she also comes home to supervise my homework. Every time there is a disagreement, she scolds me for being like my father, and brings up the old things one by one until she is tired to tears.
I just stood there stubbornly and said nothing. Mother's last words are almost always the same:
You, like your father!
Yes, many times I am more like my father.
My father passed on more things to me. I loved reading since I was a child, and I learned to play the flute from my father when I was seven years old. On weekdays, I often write and draw by myself. Love painting, like Go. My father often says that I have a natural ability to distinguish words, colors and music. He says that I have a gift. I think so, too. If my father can stay with me all the time, I think I can make full use of this talent.
He left.
Never come back.
I don't play, draw or play Go. Even, I can't read any books that have nothing to do with my homework around my mother-she doesn't want to see my father leave any mark on me.
I'm withdrawn. Under the guidance of my mother, I began to doubt everyone and refused anyone to come near me.
Mother hates men, especially talented people. She said that talented people are thin and there are no good people. I can't help agreeing with her. Because, father, after all, father left her and me. I will never forget the fact that my father abandoned me in my life.
I can't.
Many times, I think my mother is a bit like the woman who wore a wedding dress all her life in Genghis Khan's Great Expectations. She stopped all the clocks at the moment the groom left her, and also stopped her life at that moment.
She also asked me like that woman asked her adopted daughter, asking me to hate men and make me stand out. Even subconsciously, I guess she must want to borrow me to get back at all the ungrateful men in the world.
She watched her daughter grow up and become beautiful day by day. It's like looking at yourself who was unmarried many years ago.
She asked me to study hard. So I put my heart into my lessons. I must concentrate on my study. And I'm willing to concentrate on my class-I can't have too much spare time to think about things that should have nothing to do with my teenage years.
Besides, I also want to leave this house and my mother early.
18 years old, get it. I think my mother got her wish, too. I was admitted to a famous university in the north with a score enough to bring her great glory.
As she wishes, I don't study Chinese. Read economics.
Mother walked me to the car.
At that moment, I suddenly felt a little lost. I saw the same thing in my mother's eyes.
She is only in her forties. However, six years ruined her once beautiful face.
She suddenly hugged me, called me by my real name and said I was sorry.
I like tears. ...
The scene in the north is completely different from that in the south of the Yangtze River.
The green in the south of the Yangtze River is moist, while the green in the north is spreading horizontally.
Many times, I will miss the tender green in Jiangnan town. In my dreams, it is often the lilacs on the trees in the yard when my father is away.
I like lilacs.
At night, sleeping in the dry air in the north, I will dream of lilacs. Or my father, blue shirt, purple bamboo flute, blowing lightly. Lilac purple smoke is light, and flowers are swaying. The fragrance of the courtyard is long and persistent.
In this dream, I often wake up. I will dream that my father suddenly raised his head and smiled at a woman who came by. He held out his hand to her, and she held out her slender hand to meet him. This woman's face is illegible-who is she? Who is she? !
I tortured myself with this question until I woke up. Then I lie in the dark night and comfort myself: that woman must be my mother; Or maybe it's you.
There seem to be more lilac trees in the north than in the south of the Yangtze River. Between the girls' dormitory area and the teaching area, there is a small garden with lilacs planted in it.
The garden is next to a small red building where a single teacher lives.
Commuting between the dormitory and the teaching building, I often don't take the straight cement road, but detour through this garden, just for the lilacs of this tree.
After the self-study class, it was cold and the moon hung, either missing or full. The heart-shaped leaves of lilac carefully screened the moon shadow all over the floor. I walked lightly on this broken shadow, and the night was as cold as water-I thought this was my stage, and my heart danced lightly on this path paved with bluestone. Lilacs, lilacs were my only audience.
I often think that lilac is psychic, and only it can know my girl's mind.
There are few girls in this school. Maybe it's not just that. I often receive various confessions from boys. I think I'm beautiful. Only this beauty is cold.
Perhaps it was praised by adults around me since I was a child, and it was often praised by boys when I was in my hometown. This situation in college didn't surprise me.
I still remember clearly that when I was 1 1 years old, I received the first note from a boy. I didn't understand it at that time, but I thought it was strange and interesting. He took it and asked his father. My father smiled and told me that someone liked me and I grew up. He said that if I were older, I would have the best feeling in the world, called love.
However, it was my father who let me know how dangerous and heartbreaking this feeling is.
Mother's education in this respect is direct, and she sets an example. Since my father left me, all the education about love has come from my mother.
I strictly follow my mother's instructions and ignore every feeling.
It's not just that.
Premature trauma made me mature prematurely. I think I have a kind of intelligence and indifference that my peers have never had. I look down on people around me. Every seemingly touching confession is ridiculously pale in front of me, and sometimes I accidentally paint these love letters as post-it notes.
I refuse.
Freshman's life was so peaceful.
During this year, because my mother wasn't around to look after me, I eagerly got into the library and read extracurricular books that I seldom read in six years. I picked up the habits I had accumulated since I was literate and scribbled some words. Keep a diary.
I carefully recorded all my thoughts in my diary. When you only write poems or make up stories, it is hazy and obscure. Perhaps for the sake of obscurity, I fell in love with ancient poetry.
After-school life in college is very rich. It provides enough space for everyone's talent to vent.
I often go to the school website.
I went there to see some forums first. I often go to the forum "Poetry is better than Xing", which is the birthplace of an ancient poem. Then there is "dancing and writing".
Xiaozhu in these two forums is the same person, and he uses his real name.
I like his writing and read every post.
His information registration is complete: male, 3 1 year old, unmarried, master, lecturer of Chinese Department of our school, editor-in-chief of our school website. ...
Such qualifications enable me to ask him easily.
At the beginning of my sophomore year, on my way to class, a girl in my dorm pointed out to me a person who was coming face to face.
It's him.
The fleeting eyes dazzled me, not because of his tall and heroic spirit, but because of his expression. That look instantly reminded me of my father.
His expression.
Father's expression.
His appearance brought back to life the figure of my father who had disappeared in my memory. Late at night, I will open my eyes and secretly compare him with my father. Father is very generous, he is very generous; Father is elegant, he is elegant; Father is indifferent, he is broad-minded ...
I can't tell exactly how he made me feel (more precisely, what he said made me feel), but since then, I have briefly changed my name and registered on the school website.
The first post was after one of his seven laws, and I wrote one. His reaction was quick and he soon saw a reply. This time, I am very smart. First, I praised my poetry for writing well, and then I euphemistically pointed out my "leisure time" and pointed out that I didn't forget to put on a smiling face when I was free to show my carelessness.
I smiled.
Perhaps because I haven't been in contact with smart people for a long time, this reply has narrowed the distance between me and him. And between us, I can't seem to feel the difference between 12 years.
From then on, I began to post poems on his forum, and he would comment on each one. He often quotes my obscure words, but he always understands much more than others. I don't reply much, but he often answers for me and competes with others for me. I only watched in a secluded place, watching every poem and comment he made.
Gradually, I was a little scared and worried. Do I like him a little? I asked myself and shook my head. Yes, I don't like anyone, let alone a "gifted scholar".
He is indeed a gifted scholar.
His writing style is changeable and he is good at any genre. Especially modern poetry is the best. Sometimes I will unconsciously imitate his brushwork, scribble when I find it, and make up in a hurry.
I have never left any unnecessary handwriting in the "Poetry-to-Poetry Contest" except for the inevitable posting of poems and several replies.
Suddenly one day, through the forum, I received a short message from him:
Do you know there is a chat room here? I have never seen you here before. Can you come tonight? I want to tell you something about this poem you posted today.
I'm a little hesitant.
Yes, for a long time, he only had poetry. On campus, except that time, I never met it again. I am a person who often sits there and seldom walks around. It is said that he lives not only in the teachers' dormitory, but also in a small quadrangle near the school, living alone. This is his grandfather's old house.
I hesitated and repeated it.
There is a safe distance online, I told myself. So, late that night, I went to the chat room.
Just entering, I didn't get used to the fast rotating screen, and I saw the smile he quietly sent.
This smile relieved me.
Since then, the days have changed because there are more and more words in chat rooms.
It won't always be poetry. Sometimes he will "casually" ask me some resumes, and I just smile and don't answer. He stopped asking. But I don't want him to know about me, or maybe I'm afraid he knows (or maybe I'm afraid of myself at all? )。 If you don't want to lie to him, you have to answer.
Don't ask him.
So rambling and faint, every word seems dispensable, and every word is meaningful with the passage of time. Mutual appreciation, curiosity, doubt, and so lightly spread.
The night wind was cool and penetrated into the long window of the computer room. Sometimes I get a little confused by the screen, and I can't even figure out the wind, night and place.
I often tell him about lilacs. Say, if there is an afterlife, I would like to be a lilac.
I said that lilacs are bitter, not faint, but faint lilacs and faint worries. He said that lilacs are sentimental. If you find five lilacs, lovers will find happiness.
I said the best lilacs on campus are in the small garden where I often pass. He said that the small garden must be the one in front of his dormitory. He said he was on the fifth floor, with the window facing the small garden. When lilacs bloom, the fragrance of flowers is very dark and mixed with books, which will make people intoxicated.
It turns out that he lives in that small red building.
This makes me more worried when I pass this small garden.
I always whisper to him. Besides, I don't talk to anyone. He's different. Many people talk to him (sometimes I suspect many people are whispering to him). After a conversation, I often have to wait for him. He apologizes from time to time and quietly gives me a smile when he is busy.
It is a girl who talks to him the most. Her name is familiar to me. She is another little bamboo who can dance and write ink. I checked her file. She is a graduate student in the Chinese Department of our school. She is 25 years old and is the deputy director of the school radio station.
They are undoubtedly very familiar with each other. I began to pay attention to their conversation. There is a closeness in her tone, or should I say, intimacy.
This makes me feel a little annoyed and depressed inexplicably. Obviously, I also feel a little suspicious.
One night, suddenly, she greeted me quietly. Maybe this is too sudden. I hesitated for a moment, hesitating whether to hit you. She quickly typed a line saying that she had read all my posts and praised my writing. I don't know what she meant by suddenly talking to me. I just vaguely felt that it might have something to do with him, so I was simply modest. She looked very idle and asked me if I was a student or a teacher and how old I was. I told her politely that I don't talk about private affairs online. She smiled. I smiled back.
This conversation is over.
I am keenly aware that she will probably get involved in my little world from now on, but I don't know how it will end.
We met several times in the chat room, and she stopped talking to me. It's just that she talks to him more often, and her tone seems to have changed from closeness (or intimacy) to intimacy.
I never thought that my reaction would be so strong. I was unexpectedly shattered.
He still talked to me quietly as usual, but he couldn't see my pain. The tone I read between the lines is getting a little confused. When I read the more intimate sentences she called him publicly, I turned over and quit the chat room.
The screen suddenly quieted down and I felt a little cold on my face. I was in tears. ...
It scares me.
I found in despair that I had violated my mother's teaching for many years and my original intention.
Yes, I'm afraid I've fallen in love with him.
Fell in love with a gifted scholar.
My father's figure floats in front of my eyes, with a lilac tree in the background; His figure suddenly appeared in this background and smiled at me.
I shook my head. No, I don't want to.
I went back to the dormitory that night and still walked through the small garden.
It's early spring. The delicate branches of lilacs are faintly green, and after more than ten days, they will spit out some small green heart-shaped leaves. This season, it has been more than half a year since I first met him on campus. On the internet, it's been half a year.
I laughed at myself for tossing and turning in the past six months, and I laughed at myself for being smart and not remembering my mother's lessons.
I looked at the small building where he lived, looked blankly at all the windows on the fifth floor (I don't know which building he lived in), and told myself to forget this time.
Never surf the internet again.
It's just that my mood is getting more and more chaotic. I scribble in my diary, and sometimes I just draw some words or symbols or lines. One night, I was drawing at random when I was startled. I looked down and found that I was just writing his name.
His name is everywhere in the newspaper. ...
I can't forget him.
All this makes me haggard.
And all this finally made me go to the poetry competition again after more than a month.
He posted more than ten poems this month, with only one theme, lilacs.
Tears filled my eyes. I filled in a song called "Philip Burkart People" and quietly posted it behind his song.
The next day, when I entered the poetry competition again, I saw his short message:
Come to the chat room tonight, ok? I will wait for you.
That night, I returned to the chat room. It was like a lifetime ago when I saw his name.
I wish I could greet him faintly, smile faintly, and tell him faintly that I have been busy for a while, for nothing else-but I can't. ...
He quietly made a question mark. For a long time, I quietly made an ellipsis. For a long time, he also quietly made an ellipsis. After that, I was in a daze at his name. I think, across the screen, he is staring at my name blankly.
Suddenly, I was devastated.
Can I ask a person with 3 1 to have no emotional experience? Do I have the right to let his history wait for me blank? Should I expect a talented person who has not been chased by girls? ……
number
Falling in love with him is only my own fault. Such a mistake should not happen to me.
I quickly typed goodbye, quit the chat room, logged off and turned off my cell phone.
It's the end of April.
Lilacs are in full bloom in the small garden.
In April in the north, the night is slightly cold.
I can't go back to the dormitory at once, just because I don't want others to see me.
In the stone chair under the lilac tree, I sat stupefied and looked at the small building. He may be behind the window, but how did he know that I was watching him from the window? ...
Upstairs at dusk, I want to rest, and the jade ladder is like a hook across the moon-I sang this poem unconsciously in a low voice.
Banana doesn't show lilac knots, but it worries in the same direction-suddenly, someone behind him will continue this poem.
I turned around.
It's him.
It's him, standing in the faint moonlight.
I instinctively got up and wanted to escape from here. But somehow it was caught by my hand, and I couldn't get rid of it.
Since then, due to this unpredictable panic, I have been somewhat vague. It's just that he's saying that since he knew that I like cloves in this small garden, he always looked upstairs. When he first saw me in this small garden, he hoped that I was the girl he saw on the Internet. I'm just afraid not, just because I look so young and beautiful. He said that he had seen me countless times in this small garden, and people were like cloves. He said he knew my temperament and didn't dare to disturb me. It was not until today that I suddenly got off the line that he immediately went downstairs and waited for me here. If it were me, here ...
As I listened, my tears fell again.
He gently wiped away my tears, and I became more and more flustered. No one has ever been so close to me since my father left. I tried to take my hand out of his again, but the tighter he held it.
This spring is so beautiful that even lilacs seem to have lost their former sadness in my eyes.
He stood beside me carefully, very carefully.
He hasn't touched me much since that night. At that time, I thought we were above friendship, but subconsciously, because of my father's departure and my mother's education, I refused to admit that this feeling I had was love.
He never complained, but seemed to just wait quietly.
Nobody knows we're together. Only after I study by myself every day will he wait for me in the small garden.
I smile more and more. People often say that I smile beautifully. In the mirror, yes, I just found it, too It turns out that I smile so beautifully.
In mid-June, he was very busy because of an essay activity on the school website. This makes it impossible for him to go to the small garden every day. In order to meet frequently, he asked me if I could join the editorial department of the website. I hesitated, but I promised him soon. I don't want him to be too tired, and I hope I can be by his side when he is busy.
He took me to the editorial department that day.
There, I first met her, another bamboo who could dance and write.
She is very bright and beautiful, and her eyes are very bright, only a few flashes. She always smiles when she talks to people. This makes many people like to be close to her.
That day, she came over and held my hand affectionately, praising me from head to toe like Xifeng saw Daiyu for the first time in the Red Chamber. This enthusiasm makes me have to respond. Because of her hope, I called her sister.
It's just that her cleverness scares me a little.
I asked him about her. At that time, he smiled and looked me in the eye seriously and asked me if I didn't like girls and liked him, and if I was a little jealous. I laughed too. I want to believe that I am in his heart and no one can replace me.
So, I feel a little guilty about her. It seems that she can't be with him just because of my existence. And sometimes I think quietly, maybe, really just because of my existence.
Not many people should refuse her charm.
In the editorial department, it seems that we are just working. Only when others are not paying attention will they exchange a few knowing eyes. Sometimes I feel that she is looking at us, which makes me instinctively refuse to get close to her.
She is very enthusiastic and often shouts the word "sister". So in the eyes of others, we are really like sisters.
I'm not sure if she knows our feelings. I'm confused. She is still very close to him, which makes me a little jealous. Her behavior made people around her suspect that she had a deeper relationship with him than friendship. When he was away, others joked about it, and she always smiled with her head down in shame and did not deny it.
This situation makes me very uneasy.
It's autumn in a blink of an eye.
I didn't go home this summer vacation, and I have been working with him on the website.
Sometimes he will take the editorial staff to the quadrangle outside his school, and he will be the host very diligently. Everyone there is free, just like a salon.
This small courtyard is a bit like my home in Jiangnan, quiet and exquisite. I once praised the elegance of his small courtyard. He said with a smile that he likes living here, too, but it's a little lonely, and he doesn't know when he can add another master.
One day in late autumn, it was raining lightly. I am in the dormitory, keeping a diary alone.
Someone knocked at the door. It's her.
She said that she had just met him on campus, because there were some problems in the manuscript recently, and asked her to find some people to go to his quadrangle at seven o'clock tonight to deal with these problems.
I'm a little surprised that he didn't come to me in person. But maybe he's really busy.
I answered. She didn't leave immediately, but told me some gossip without saying a word.
Suddenly she smiled and asked me what I thought of him. I slightly zheng, just casually said a sentence is very good. She looked down and said, you know, we used to ...
Just saying that, she closed her mouth, blushed and smiled again.
I think my facial expression must be a little reserved. I-I don't know what to say.
She said goodbye.
My heart is in a mess. There is still an hour before seven o'clock, and I'm a little fidgety. I just want to see him and ask him, and he will answer, so that I can settle down.
With an umbrella, I went to the yard outside his school.
The door is unlocked. He must be waiting for us. I gently pushed the door and went in.
The lights in the main room are on, and the dark blue curtains tightly cover the windows, which seems to be what he looks like when he is alone at home on weekdays. The door is unlocked.
Standing on the steps, I pushed the door-
At that moment, my heart was blank. I saw her crying in his arms. ...
The sound of an umbrella falling on the ground woke me up and I rushed to the door.
I ran aimlessly and vaguely heard him calling my name in the rain behind me.
The rain in late autumn is so cold. Ice and ice fell on my face, and I couldn't tell if it was just raining.
I ran away without any consciousness.
We are on the main road. Pentium headlights weave finely divided rain flowers into hazy flowing light fog. I want to go through this fog. It seems that if I cross it, everything I just crossed is just a fantasy and doesn't exist. I went back to the dormitory an hour ago and kept a diary quietly.
I heard the brakes. It is heavy.
The surrounding sounds suddenly blurred and became distant.
I am a little tired and want to close my eyes slowly.
I suddenly recognized his voice in that vague and distant voice. I tried to open my eyes. He hugged me and the rain drenched me. I have some heartache.
I looked into his eyes, why, why, there was despair in his eyes.
But I'm so tired-
I, uh, close my eyes.
When I closed my eyes, the world changed greatly.
I came to the underworld.
The underworld is not as terrible as the world has rumored. Don't want to describe it too much.
In the underworld, you can see everything happening in Shi Yang, as if looking down from the clouds.
I saw my funeral.
My mother is from Jiangnan. She is teetering in front of my portrait.
She tidied up my things and looked through my thick diary over the years. Her white hair seems to be getting more and more every day, and her pain is getting bigger and bigger every day.
I thought she would be disappointed. When she sees my diary full of his name, she will hate me for not listening to her. However, she didn't.
She left all my diaries to him. She said all this was not someone else's fault, but her mother's fault and God's punishment. She said that she made me unable to have normal love like a normal girl, and she made me hesitate, fear, be suspicious and toss and turn in front of love … ..
My mother left my diary and returned to her hometown in the south of the Yangtze River.
The great pain of divorce and the loss of her daughter ruined the rest of her life.
His sadness broke my heart.
He shut himself in his room.
He took my diary from my mother and read only one line for a long time.
He doesn't talk.
She also came to my spiritual world.
She cried when no one was around.
She said that she was jealous of me, and when she found out that he commented on every poem on the forum, she began to envy me. She said she loved him and couldn't live without him. She said that everything that happened that night was carefully arranged by her, but she went early on purpose and told him how much she loved him. When her heart was broken, she threw herself into his arms and cried. The crying was real, only time, but it was planned for me to see. She said she just wanted me to leave her, but I didn't expect this to happen. ...
I was in the underworld, watching all this silently. If there were tears in my soul, I would cry.
It's been a lifetime.
That was a lifetime ago.
The underworld is just a transit. All souls need to be reincarnated, but not necessarily people. It has its rules.
Because my previous life was only 19 years, and I have never accumulated any charity, so my afterlife can only be a tree. Because of my death, I can realize three wishes.
No, I don't need three wishes.
Two is enough.
I want to be a lilac tree.
I want to be with him.
Not all souls need to drink Meng Po Tang for reincarnation. You don't need to drink water when you are inferior to the creatures in your previous life and can't communicate with the creatures in your previous life. This is also a punishment. It wants you to remember all your mistakes in your past lives, and it wants you to suffer from this memory all the time.
So, I jumped off the Naihe Bridge so clearly.
When I woke up again, I found myself in a garden in March.
Yes, I am already a small lilac tree.
It's just, why, why can't I be with him? !
I am a tree, and I have no language ability. I want to find him, I want to call someone to find him, but all this is impossible. I have to wait quietly for the future in this garden.
I am obviously haggard because of my heartache. Compared with other lilac trees, I look so thin and delicate.
Ten days later, I heard his voice.
He stepped on a fine spring cold, tall and thin.
The owner of the garden is beside him. He said he would buy a lilac tree. The master took him to several big trees for him to choose from. I regret this moment. I hate myself for being so ill today, and I shouldn't be so sad.
He shook his head in front of those trees. Suddenly he looked at me, and he pointed at me and said, this is it.
He hugged me and took me home.
Small quadrangles are still elegant and deserted.
He put me in front of his study and window in the west building.
He looked at me silently. Suddenly, he called me by the name of my previous life. I can't help but wonder.