"My Mood for Love"

I used to think that the wind was blue, and there was an incomprehensible lightness in the sky and the earth, and the sudden joy poured down like strong wine. I spread my wings and wandered among the ripples, it was a little white in the ocean, Sail; beat the drum of the heart that no one hears, I shouted wildly, never stingy with laughter. The swing swings from turn to turn, it's contrived naivety, so what? I have the capital to show off, and the entrustment of youth makes me condescending.

Outside the library, on the playground, your white shirt is shining brightly, and you are more flamboyant than Yan Xia. The faint smile makes us look at each other like a mirror. I seem to have forgotten your stubbornness, and your stubbornness has become a beautiful wrapping paper. One day, I picked up a candy, in a moment of hesitation, you ate it, my heart was melting , mess is my synonym, even oleander knows, when the monsoon comes, I wonder if I exist, or Stuck in the wrong time and space.

At night, I weep emotionally, because of the messy trifles, or for no reason, the tears make me feel my reality and not be displaced. Sometimes I threw myself in the wind, thinking that if I jumped, I would fall into a firm and warm embrace, stupid, stupid, that's stupid! But when he scolded himself, he smiled quietly, as if it was not true, and forgiving the pull tab, which was as fragile as an aluminum can, would be broken as soon as it was said.

Picking a sunflower, reversing its intentions, smashing its persistence , and gradually intoxicated by this cruel act, I looked up to the sky and smiled brightly. Goodbye friends, say goodbye to so-called classmates, but what did we learn from each other? But it is to squeeze youth. The purpose of experience is: to teach me that experience is useless. I better listen to the teaching obediently, grow up tamely, and have less wrinkles between my eyebrows.

Goodbye friends, goodbye my classmates, we have nothing to say. Those that are poured out on the ground, and those with a salty taste, have no one to love the stacks, and it is not a pity to be trampled on. Even I began to choose to forget. I smeared oil on the surface of my memory. It was light and thin, and I deceived myself. That kind of technique is a symbol of growth. I hate the trembling of flowers and the chirping of crickets, and I'd rather stick my head in the whirlpool of fantasy than listen to the bullshit of grown-ups! After all, alas! Or don't get to the bottom of it, so as to leave a small piece of white, so as not to make fun of yourself.

When it was about to rain, I had to pack up and dry my clothes. I stuffed my past events into a suitcase, and made a disgusting wandering gesture on the dusty northwest highway. Pooh! The one who has no home is the most unworthy to walk alone, it is just a monotonous note, it is not a song, I even hum it like a whimper, that's all! When I walked to the desolate place and looked up at the sunset, there were bits and pieces of the past that flooded my mind, and I couldn't get it back. In a panic, I closed the suitcase and held on to it, trying to find a place to bury it . It can't be dropped, and it is pieced together into an ugly painting. It seems that there is only one thing to do with it. When the footprints on the desert are getting shorter and shorter, I let the wind and sand greedily eat my memory, and the guy buried in the depths of the earth that can never emerge, actually buried me together.

When I woke up, dew was all over my face, I was like a child, woo-woo, looking for my mother, the breath that has existed in my real imagination for a long time, comfort me, thank you, fantasy and nature, make me live Come here, even if life is not very comfortable, it is better than nothing.

Life is a sharp knife, cut me open, cut me as it wants me, and I have to obey.

The wind flew by, pressed on my shoulders, and embraced me from behind. I have lost the ability to perceive it. The familiar songs have been abandoned. Goodbye. I've become an ugly adult, dressed like a cockroach, living furtively, and the arrogance that used to sound like a ridiculous joke now, and I don't even know myself. It was already frivolous twenty years ago, but the fragrance of birds and flowers penetrated into the space of my soul and touched the ring finger of my left hand. The subtle pain made me know that even if my face was blurred, I was still beautiful. .

Perhaps, in my lifetime, I will finally understand the mystery of growing up, which will make me treat life more tolerantly. The pain is over, but if you don't learn , it's a bad deal. The world is so desolate, the reason for parting, I don't need to know, what I want is the truth.

I took a breath and told the Well of Democritus not to dry up too quickly, here I am, and wait for me before I fall to pieces again.

Note: Democritus (about 460-370 BC) was an outstanding materialist philosopher in ancient Greece and one of the founders of the atomic theory. Because of his famous saying: "The truth is in the bottom of the well", People later called the depths where secrets and truths were stored the "Well of Democritus".