The years are not old, love Cheng Yi

Life is just like a drama. Some people want to call the curtain, some people want to play, and some people want to leave. That year, our youth happened to be scattered. The complex mood was like overlapping scenery, with joy, vision, loneliness and sadness. When parting and escape were at the same place at the same time, when I appeared in the same way, I was the only one who was in a mess.

I like listening to songs. I like to miss meeting, separation, reunion, concern, hesitation, worry and story with the most melodious rhythm. I wrote down the beginning, but I didn’t know how to write this road, three months and five years respectively. Five years is not a simple number. For you and me, we have lived our own lives in these five years. Maybe, when you make a wish with her, I will accompany him; When you walk with her hand in hand, I write sweet fairy tales of the future for him; when you took good care of her sick, he gently handed over the paper towel for me who was sad. In five years, you don’t know my life, I’m not familiar with your habits. In this way, in a strange place, I spent time without each other in a strange mood. In junior high school, I still remember that when you laughed, there were dimples like mine, mine was on the left and yours was on the right. Your Chinese is very good, and I am a little envious of it. Every time I answer questions, I also remember your different accent. I remember that I was still learning dance in the second grade of junior high school. On Children’s Day on June 1, you saw me after the show and said with a smile, you are very beautiful today. But I don’t remember what I said. Since I was young, I like to have some strange dreams, so no exception, after you transferred to school in Grade 3, I dreamed of you. I dreamed that I was walking alone in the empty campus, as if I saw the phantom of you coming towards me, but I knew in the dream that you had already left and I didn’t have time to say goodbye to you. I don’t know why I felt so sorry at that time. What I thought was that I owed you an explanation and an apology. Later, I slowly found out, you owe me a simple farewell like a friend. I think last year and this year, the outsole is the last two years I want to face since I grew up. Especially now, when I am entangled in an emotion, struggling in the betrayal and grievance of my family, I find sadly that I have no weapon to resist those sorrows. Helpless, I think practice is the only way to test the truth, which is really applied to me now. What is more sad is that you don’t understand my thoughts in different places, and face me with the indifference I fear most; He was supposed to be beside his mother, but in the scandal that embarrassed her, she endured the pain alone. I want to regard myself as a poor person, sitting alone in front of the computer, facing the cold screen, tapping words one by one to talk. In love, he, she, they, you and me are all poor people. Love is a grave, burying the undead. You see, a marriage contract, a love, what is left in the end. You know, any small wound in the softest place in your heart is fatal enough. I knew you five years ago. I saw you again, but I didn’t meet you regularly. I can love you, but whether you wait or not, after all, such a long distance, long parting is too easy to make love fall Gray. I am so sober now that I don’t even know myself. I doubt whether I should write these words here or not. Just tonight, I am like a silkworm that starts to make cocoons. I begin to wrap myself up slightly and fall into darkness little by little. Zan (prose editor: dripping ink into injury) Phoenix mountain spring outing

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