The night wind gusts, gentle patting, just like my cut and disorderly mind. I couldn't help but shiver and succumb to the darkness of the winter night without making a fuss.
Not far away, a small bamboo forest in the night wind blowing, swaying branches and leaves, stopping to gaze under, very moving. In order not to destroy this quiet atmosphere, I stopped completely, like a lifeless sculpture standing. I believe that at this time, the cold wind of the winter night is sculpting my life. I held my breath to be silent as part of the night.
The silence around me, the romance of the wind blowing and the trees swaying, could hardly keep my footsteps. I must move forward and touch the darker, colder night with my body. I took small steps, like a vagabond abandoned by the world, pretending to enjoy a moment of coziness that only I can appreciate. I hadn't gone far when I suddenly felt that I wasn't walking with enough style. I thrust both hands into my pants pockets, imagining that I was surrounded by a crowded audience, their applause and screams unceasing. I purposely raised my hands and did my best to muffle the clamor. The clamor gradually dissipated, leaving only my figure boiling in the night sea.
I don't know when, but a bright moon rose in the sky. The cold moonlight drifted to its heart's content, illuminating the loneliness of this world. Those loneliness, as piercing as white hair, I retreated with all my might, wanting to escape every inch of the grass and trees here. Even if it means retreating to hell, will I give myself up? Yes, I am no longer me, just a house of darkness that cannot even be lit by moonlight.
I closed my eyes, my vicissitudes of the face bathed in moonlight. Watery moonlight flowed into my smile and kept soaking into my . Skin. I know that they are going to occupy my shell and decorate my heart with the coldest tenderness. I make no resistance and submit like a slave. For, I understand that I am about to awaken in the cold of the moonlight.
I opened my eyes and looked at the strange world before me. My gaze was dull and devoid of the slightest brightness. Just like that, everything in my eyes is like an old yellowed photo, fixed on the road of the passing years. I turned around and waved goodbye to those distant familiar figures. Their voices have been mixed into the booming crowd. The first time I saw this, I was in the middle of the night, and I was in the middle of the night, and I was in the middle of the night.
Now I am more and more realistic, seemingly smart, but stupid. Sometimes I think, now I, what else can be lost, what else can be gained? I often mention to others my confusion about life, and even childishly ask others about the attitude of life. Now think about it, really ridiculous, after laughing, but inevitably feel a little sad. But fortunately, someone else's word woke me up, that is, "money". In the past, I was always struggling with the purpose of my life on this earth, and I had no idea what I was looking for. Whenever I saw the smiles on other people's faces, I would be envious and couldn't help but ask myself, "Why are they so happy?"
In fact, I also know that all my unhappiness is mediocrity. Before all the decadence, I have also made efforts, but unfortunately I do not have the perseverance to do things, can not adhere to, in the end, all to close the door and end.
Whenever the night comes, looking at the charming night color, my heart will follow the dance. Sometimes, I can not help but melt into the night, with a pair of black eyes and the night dialog. The night and I were silent relative to each other, and no one opened their mouths. In the end, a conversation without sound gave me the answer - I had to walk until the cold winds of the winter night rose up, and I returned everything that life had given me.
I was a soulless person, walking through the years, but finally nowhere to put a skin and flesh. This is a kind of pain into the marrow of the realization, of course, is a kind of numbness to the extreme self-comfort. I can't see this winter night, and I can't even hear my own footsteps, which have been left in the dust along the way. I believe that I once used all the strength in my body to shout hysterically for my dusty heart. I put my ear close to the earth, hoping that those faint echoes can break through the blockade of the soil and bring me the morning sun that I long for tomorrow.
Sitting on the edge of the cliff, I waited, day after day, year after year. The winds of the mountains do not melt my rock-solid heart, and the night rains do not wet the love that is always there.
Even when the sky is cloudy, I give myself a piece of the mountain flowers. The world has been painted with their delicate colors in the eyes. The fragrance of their flowers imprinted an oasis of spring on my face.
Time will always go, but I will not always come back. I stood up and walked toward the pine forest in the distance. The wind howled and a dark patch of green rolled through the pines. I could not help but run, and the wind, ringing in my ears, seemed to say to me:Come, beat the desolation of this place with the waves of your life!
After entering the pine forest, full of withered yellow pine needles across the ground, and then look at the dried up sharp needle tip, seems to be to pierce my noble mask. I hurriedly lie down, want to use the temperature of the body, warm the pale earth.
The heartbeat of the earth, over the roar of the wind, over the time of the old, directly brought me back to the deepest part of the season - this sleepless winter night. In the distance, the small windows of the houses are lit up, and from a distance, it looks like a dark eye, looking straight at me.
Walking here, the heart of strolling elegance has faded a lot, the heart also began to be a little tired of this thousand walk.
The night wind is still cold, I raised my head, looked at the sky of a round of cold moon, and then looked at the moonlight falling on his body. At this point, I suddenly smiled with satisfaction. Because, this body of moonlight was enough to light up my house of darkness. Thinking of this, I accelerated my footsteps and walked towards the cold wind of the winter night.
January 25, 2016 in the morning in Chengdu, Zhu Hong first pen
Afterword: There are two times I do not want to write, but finally insisted on writing, of course, I still will not read immediately, because I do not also do not know what I have written? Because, that is the flow of consciousness, not my true feelings in the form of text interpretation.