To the boy who likes to play guitar

11.07.2021

 Statement of giving up on revising the manuscript: (Originally posted on IG for fear of being recognized, so I want to cover it up)

I'm thinking that a good writer should welcome everyone to their seats, even if it's true, or false, or it's actually someone else's story, or my present progressive, or it's a mix of truth and falsehood, it's the same.
So, if there is a similarity, it is the same.

In addition, the original title of this article was "I heard the emotional explosion in the middle of the night, so I stopped to write an article."

*text below*

The locomotives at 12 midnight always like to shatter the windows of the dormitory with their screeching wind, whizzing past the earphones.

Mayday's "And I Know" and Marshmallow's "It's Raining in Tokyo" have one thing in common, they are very gentle, like a bed, so maybe only the sound of cars and horses can take a person sleeping in emotions from reality She shouted out, reminding her that the person she longed to be near was far away from her.

At the beginning, life after college was different from what she had thought all along, and all the time and space belonged only to herself.

It's like staying in a movable air grid, constantly moving to find the vacancy that belongs to you every minute and every second. Sometimes when you find it, it will become a dinner party, or a class, or just a pure chat.

She put herself in that clump of air to practice how to be a whole person in a crowd.

She protects herself very well.

The romantic feelings of wanting to fall in love come and go with the work, and it seems that it has become a distant memory. Even when riding a bicycle through the avenue in front of the library, I still feel that the breeze matches the sky today, but also Only then did the pace slow down a little.

She still occasionally thinks of z erratically, or should call him senior (she is always afraid to call the so-called seasick object by name). It's like when the breeze blows, she thinks: "The university is so big, can we meet on the road?" Then after getting off the bicycle, it fell back to the ground, reminding her that she should be more down-to-earth.

Solving an unknown mystery with too much uncertainty takes time to waste, but people around you always say, "If you choose the best, you can't choose more time."

No time, she always has no time.

The lack of time was another worrying issue, and under this issue, in the middle of an event, she got off the boat unprepared and boarded another boat that was farther from her destination.

If the boy's performance in class only took away some of the clapping and applause she could give to anyone, the laughter at the dinner table and the half face under the mask, it took away her more and more The more little eyes, the emotions and articles written by the boy on IG, made her replace the dissipated and dissimilar senior in the center of the universe with him.

God has finally given me an answer that fits my needs perfectly, she thought.

It's like the machine that has been idling since college has an axis, and she returns from a state of being a person to a state of daily life where her opening and closing are someone's daily life, as if repeating her love like this can change the distance between her and the boy. of.

It's ridiculous, but she gets her inexplicable sense of security from her inexplicable unrequited love again.

Listening to the song in the article, watching the boy write how much he likes another girl, her envy is hot in the music, and her eyes are gurgling from her chest, a feeling of eagerness is almost rushed. The air that had enveloped and protected her for a long time was scattered.

She wanted to talk to him about the story in the article. Those are almost printed out of the same mold, for the family and the country, for the dream, for the tears and literature, for the book of farewell to her wife in the third year of the country.

She wants to have a good chat with the human being who was given to her by God, the one in the crowd, who may have been separated in her previous life, and who can make up for the hollowness she has always been He wrote another beautiful love in the present tense.

The lack of time has become an unimportant reason.

She secretly put the boy into her small circle of close friends, hoping that he can see his life first every day, even if those photos may only be three seconds of the boy's 86,400 seconds a day , she still enjoys it.

She secretly changed the homework list she was thinking about in the bath, and began to speculate about what kind of girl the perfect boy in her mind would like, how to smuggle the restricted text into some suggestive words, and even when she was going to worship Yue Lao, please have a chance to talk to him.

She finally had the motivation to overcome those excuses she used to call hunger, just to have enough confidence to say "hello" to him when she didn't know when the opportunity would come.

She finally started to write articles again, practicing Jiang Lang, who is not as talented as he is, practicing the pleasant low laughter from his jawline, from his throat, and on his beautiful legs wrapped in white shorts, refining a little ecstasy Use it, and then make this article today.

It was two o'clock, and the sound of the motorcycle outside the window was still tearing apart the silence of the night, but the music on the headphones had already stopped, but the dreamer fell asleep again on the keyboard.

I know that he is asleep or awake a dozen stops away from me, so I also try to build a bridge with words a dozen stops away from him to send my dream to a place with him.

Ps I miss this guitar so much, I went to 3D print the finished product and gave it to a young handsome guy I met in the first year of high school in the camp. In the end, it felt a little wasteful. I spent a week building the model at noon. Fortunately, I printed more. One, hopefully not missing.

 Postscript (it can be considered as a summary of the previous situation): The Zhongyou Club welcomes the new year, and I meet the first boy in my life who can be called an ideal type. He can play concerts and play well, and his height is completely in line with my heart.
So I finally understood that the definition of an ideal type is to turn the feelings of liking a person into a list of points, and explain bit by bit to others how good and worthy of my moths to the flames or wishful thinking.