Old clouds are soft
Old clouds are soft
I remember the night you left. After more than 20 years of experience in a few pieces of luggage, your passport speaks and represents you more than you do. The plane is parked on the runway. It will fly over a patch of blue on the map and take you to another country ---- Like a red dragonfly in my childhood, flying over the stream and landing on the grass opposite, so that I can only look.
The balcony of the airport is very wide, as if it must be so, in order to hold those other gestures. Standing on the balcony of the airport, I looked out at the dim lights of the night. Who said that? There's an emotional story under a lamp. The lights trembled in the wind, like wandering lanterns carried by reckless children. When I was a child, a sudden wind, often let the child miss burned the hand of the lantern ---- emotion so unbearable blowing.
That night, I have been persistent think: in this world, you are my most can not miss the family.
Time is turbulent and space is turbulent. Because far away from you, far away to a very objective distance, yesterday may be years sentence by sentence. I was 17 when I met you.
Perhaps people do not have to be too keen, emotion should not be excessive, like a circle, the larger its area, and the world's contact surface is also larger, more opposition and conflict. Some people are as simple as a full stop, but full of self sufficiency in a small possession. At 17 years old, I was lacking in life skills. My desire was always directed directly to its intended destination; I am also extremely sensitive to those fine fine photographic memory, even a leaf shadow seems to cover my whole spring.
At that time, your brilliant imagination and understanding are also open to the utmost. You are a sentimental person, standing on the South Pole of truth, you look at those bumpy friendship and cold justice. Your mind is always from the most vulnerable part of things to attack its core, no one knows behind the cold eyes, you are a love genius.
We are in the same class. In those days surrounded by knowledge and teachings, we often think of some distant friends. Sometimes you talk and laugh, more often you are silent. The deepest impression is your deep blue back, walking in the sun full of dust. I'm used to thinking that you live with your back to you.
There is a river in the city where we live. It is small and slender, but it is famous. We sat by the river and talked, the night fluttering like a gentle bat. Sometimes I like to stand at the edge of the water, the shadow of the street lamp floating on the water wave, circle after circle of golden waves, chaotic and meaningless, but blinding. Looking at it, I just wanted to jump in. Behind you always heard your voice: Don't dizzy ah. Always.
The waves, the starlight, and the stillness keep you moving forward with your thoughts. A bird has lost its feathers to the sound of a gun, a flower is gone in the morning, a man can bear mediocrity and live with it... Because of the demanding perfection, we appear FenShi drift, also be picky - himself always carry some dim quality, including our own.
The world is full of music and noise. If you would listen to the melody of life, you must also love to absorb the noise of time, as if you kissed a beauty's red lips, you must ignore the bacteria growing between her teeth. And we are too young to tolerate, ugly little particles weigh us down.
There was a long time when we enjoyed talking. We get a great deal of joy out of a simple problem that becomes too complicated and unattainable.
It's strange how often our relationships are filled with arguments. The argument took place at a calm pace, punctuated by a long silence. Because we know each other well, we can easily find the exact words to hurt each other. We bitterly regret it afterwards, and then make up again, as if our feelings were heightened by how much we endured the wound.
In fact, our young souls are twins, they look like each other, grow together, but also in the maternal body for nourishment. You and I support each other's arms in the contradiction of intertwined teeth.
It is like a tooth crushing the shell of a substance that brings nourishment and heat to the body ---- I am convinced that neither of us will ever find anything more like teeth than what you and I have.
From the beginning, I knew this was the most important relationship of my life, and I couldn't name it. The distance between us is too close, that the general sense of love is impossible. It has a high purity, stronger than friendship, clearer than love, deeper than affection. I would like to keep this long and moving friendship for my whole life by giving up utility and intention and allowing the spontaneity and authenticity of life. When I miss you, I feel so good, no one knows what kind of pain I can bear to love, a name can in what way move me to the bottom of my soul. I believe we will never part.
Life is full of clutter, we must be transparent like a baby, some beauty through the dust, to reach the top of our minds. It is for this purpose that God sends some people to approach our path, to help us sweep away the dust of the years, so that we can give thanks again for life in a clear, watery vision. "A little weariness is a kind of salvation" ---- Your sad and clean thoughts are my dust. As long as I admire people like you, it means I'm still looking in the direction of perfection.
I know that in the adjective arena, the perfect runner is the fastest, and no one can ever catch ----, but what does it matter? I raise my hand to the sky, not necessarily to take the stars and moon, I just need this upward, unyielding gesture.
Finally, you leave a foreign country in search of a refined and noble life. I went back to the river bank and lay on the grassy bank, watching the shooting stars and wondering who could so easily pick the flowers of heaven.
I know you are a hard scale on my body, losing you I would be hurt, but I did not know that I would lose direction like losing fins. It was summer, an opportunity for an enthusiastic splurge, and I quietly folded my flowers. When you turn up the book of memories, there may be a few pieces of dry petals, a light so memorial, I know you will ignore.
Several years passed. You were over there, I was over here, we lived on opposite sides of the river in friendship, and sometimes you wrote and sometimes you didn't, and for a long time there was no news. And I am used to thinking of you serenely, not close greetings to you. The blessing is more like a quiet rest in the midst of one carol after another.
I always thought that this feeling would bring me both pleasure and pain, and I never imagined that it would have a calm face. The night you were gone was like a nail in my life, and now I have shed the wound. Time and space is a terrible thing, it determines everything, maybe it is the real name of God. Time and space do not refer to our wishes, it is always with their own habits, interests and power, bit by bit to modify us.
I think I'm starting to acknowledge the sharpness of the moment, and stop covering my eyes with a rose petal. When the ideal is stripped from me, I want to say that growth is at the cost of pain. We live in close or distant relationships with those around us. God will eventually take someone away from us, perhaps the names of those closest to us. I am now quietly thinking of these soft but cold truths, thinking of you.
I don't know if you can still miss me without truncation, between your care and concern, whether I can still accommodate in. But my feelings for you will never germinate, will not decay, you will be my life's best store.
I have learned to go with the flow of life. Go to work and get off work. Read what I really want to read, think what I want to think about. Hit by heavy things, also confused by pocket troubles. The thorns throughout life grind me rough and calm.
But I know very well that I am a cicada that can not bear to fly away. What remains on the tree is my cicada slough. My golden and fragile past is still in the sun, tender.
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