In March, all the heavenly books were misprinted, but no one knew it.
The mountains near here are stained with snow, and the azaleas and cherry blossoms on the hillside are still waiting for spring in a naive manner. March would have been undoubtedly, only I care about the snow and flower season argument, as concerned about the life of the water scribble can allow the life of the burning. But, one is tired of living, turning candles to the black baht, or wine, or a hundred-year-old river can afford a crab? So, I, too, dare to let myself be weary, and mellowly, after the meeting of the verbal tussle, praise in the timbre of a chilly raven, "How hopeful the world is!" And then, go.
Until an unfamiliar book of poems floats into view, printed a year and still first edition of Cold Poetry, (we are descended from poetry!) The preface to the poems was written two years ago, four years if you migrate the lines and lines, or six or eight years if you restore the poetry to the life of the first pregnancy. So I did the first quick thing in my life, bought all the collections decorated by three bookstores - forgive me for being reckless! Strange poets, all uncherished lives should be high and out of print!
However, when I turned the pages of all the books to the last page at the same time to inscribe the last love poem, the afternoon rain came creeping through the curtain. The clouds of March are dumped in the water valley of February, just as the thin poetic boat carries the mess of the years. So I gently laughed, literature, really never tired of the place of exile! Those who tattooed the face, do not have to get up on their own to come to confess, draw a pledge, because, the only place to allow the offender to complain slowly and then sentenced to death, the only place to prefer to indulge and not want to kill by mistake.
Forgive me for the cold silence of the Qing official court dress cut to fit the search for the day cloth, your first-class silk embroidery cut to reassure the dark bag, you skillfully three lines of rhyme and business body, to my hands into the sewing of the hundred lines of the map. Quiet, the ghost of March rain, I have to rummage through the trunk, and then cracked a sweatless wipe tears of the handkerchief.
I kept drifting,
because I was afraid of a captive heart, and finally, I came to this area of the forest where the rain has been accumulating for many years
You returned to me the heart that I have been writing to you for seven years, and there is nothing easier than that.
Appointment to meet in front of the hospital and a good dinner. With the pungent smell of medicine still wafting from the corners of your coat, it should have been the most sterile date ever. Unfortunately, the dismal night color made you look pale, as if the rendition of life and death still lashed your thin, long frame. With a high of seeing thirteen children die in a single week, you often said that you had learned to let your mind go blank in the face of a patient's death and continue to be a sated, more bathed, sleepy indifference. In the early days, in the poem "The White Heron," which you wrote, you eloquently asked heaven and earth to give you this white coat; in the white red, you wrote in the Guandu Manuscript several years later:
I am afraid
I am your corpse's garment
Non-wedding finery
and quietly postscripted, "Every time a patient is in critical condition, we know that it is useless, but we are still in a position to do nothing. We know that it is useless, but we still do some first aid work. The purpose is not to save the patient, but to comfort the family."
You stopped writing poetry a long time ago, and broke your wrist just to weave more beautiful lies to feed the desperate eyes of dying patients. You can also let yourself be immersed in the splendor of the lies all the time, quietly forgetting the reality on all sides, you are thinner, taller, the letter to me is getting shorter and shorter, I do not see in the emergency room, cancer ward trip behind, you tremble and refuse to drop ink to discuss, about the life of this rationale.
Finally, we have come to this moment, meet not to round lie in order to return the face, seven years, we each with different techniques to weave their own lies, and indeed not damaged to avoid the reality of the dangerous beach. Only at this moment, you are willing to be honest in front of me, just as the only thing I do not want to be false to you. How unfortunate, then, that we cannot be taken in by the dream of indifference, and how fortunate that, after all our sufferings, we go single-handed.
Through the new park, the ghosts and goblins are wandering in the black forest, there must be someone who is looking for "A Midsummer Night's Dream", and someone who is copying the stringless fishing. We walked quietly, as if we had agreed to visit two dear friends, one is seven years ago you, one is seven years ago me. As if they were languishing in the intensive care unit, dying and refusing to rest in peace, waiting for their loved ones to recognize their bodies.
"Why are you walking so fast?" You shouted.
"It's cold! And it's going to rain soon."
The lights float and the piano music sounds like a careless person kicking over a bucket of glass beads. The aperitif is brought by clean, white-handed waiters, and where did Jesus' Last Supper begin?
"Bring, what thou wilt send me."
Coyly, with a hesitant gesture, you handed me a heavy packet.
"Can I open it now?" I ask slyly.
"No, you can go back and read it, not now."
"What is it? A book? Is it the Bible? ...... Or ...... it's so heavy!" I weighed and weighed, seven years' weight.
"You ...... go back and read it, the only, the only request."
So I pretended not to know anything and went on to dinner with you, hating my own sensitivity as much as I was tired of always being able to respond with a smile on top of a needle and felt. And I can not bear to brush my sleeve, how precious this dinner. I'll leave you one last time, don't worry, I'll keep you out of the storm, you take your time. The last letter is written like this: "In my mind, you have always been a noble soul, for me to admire. The longer I know you, the more I feel that you are a clear and happy water in the path of my life.
"For you, I have suffered a lot, these are not mentioned. I am too aware of the difficulties that exist between us, so do not dare to wait, a few times I want to forget the world, always at the end of the mountain and quietly see each other, counting that is a kind of reluctance to give up.
"I know that I can not be your companion, and you walk. God will not place mine in your hands in this world that our eyes can see and ears can hear. All this, I have promised.
"Over the years, I have been blessed to be your greatest sharer, and every time we meet, you have never been shy about pouring the overflowing birthright of your heart into my cup. Like Joshua and the others who cut down a branch of the vine from the valley of Ishkol with a hanging of grapes on it, and brought some pomegranates and figs to ...... You have kept me from becoming a blind know-it-all, You have inspired me to pursue the supreme freedom of my will, and if one day I finally find my Canaanite wilderness, I'll have to thank You for giving me wings.
"Believe that I honor your choice, and understand that my obstinacy is not due to a single reality that I blame on you, but rather a faithfulness to myself and my life. You are beautiful, and you have always been beautiful.
"You have written poems too, you must know that the mill of creation is lonely and barren all the way through, and there is not a day that goes by that my humble spirit does not work and learn here. If I have any craving for comfort, I will be abandoned. Walking used to the poor sand, gnawed through the coarse grain, when swallowing even the feeling of honey, perhaps, this is my Canaan land.
"Do not fantasize about the future. If you meet a delightful sister, I shall pray a blessing and a benediction. Thou art truly a delightful person, and thy cup should not be empty for me.
"It is well to bid farewell; faith and unbelief cannot **** a yoke."
And let us take a night of bitter tea
to tell the vicissitudes of half a lifetime
We are all a persistent and unrepentant bunch
with drifting as a homecoming
In the hours of your young and feeble life, I record this volume of difficult-to-pronounce Scripture in the hope that one day, you will explain it to me.
If the memories on the end of the pen can be a thread of a wisp and then around a hand, I have calculated that when we learn young bhikkhu bhikkhuni into the Shewei big city begging, in its city in order to beg, and return to this place, I want to put the bowl of the biggest and most beautiful things to provide you with, and then do not allow you to be like the previous soft and hard to take advantage of the people to throw a piece of ice heart into my jug.
Truly we have known each other by our unusual drinking.
It was a thin summer afternoon, and I still remember the short cuffs of my sleeves were stained with the fibers of the wind. In the class and class in the intersection of the empty mouth, to the College of Arts and Letters patio side of the pantry to pour a cup of wheat tea, leaning on the brick archway to watch the scenery. A line of cherry thin, green fluttering, but make me miss the beauty of the winter cherry frozen lips, although that beauty with bleak, and I prefer to choose the absolute bleak, more than the grace of the plain and straightforward. Door wall, the old tree shade, trailing the wind of the sky; grass color glaze green, three or two pink butterflies shuttle swim. I sighed softly, feeling that there is a world of more than a name in front of my eyes phantom life and transformation, sometimes an anonymous poem, sometimes into the ghost of the floating smoke, sometimes a regret - from a person with the most exquisite in the life of God's thoughts ...... these interlaced and overlapping feathers of the spirit finally
These intertwined and overlapping feathers were finally pecked apart by a bird's cry coming from the sky, and then another voice asked:
"Are you Jian-Chen?"
I tensed up, you know, I often forget my own name, and resist to recognize myself in front of the crowd, that day I must be very overwhelmed! There was a long hesitation before I said, "Yes." And again, in a very awkward conversation, I asked, "So, what are you?"
Knowing that you also study Chinese and write poetry, it's as if you've found a four-petaled lucky weed in a field of three-petaled edelweiss: "Phew, there's another one hiding in here!" When I get happy, I can eat people: "So it's you, call me sister!" You looked puzzled, and only then did you reveal your journey from the Science Academy to the Hall of Literature, and that you were more than two years older than me. I saw that you were gentle and friendly, clearly a neighboring brother, and I deliberately bullied you to the end: "I am a senior regardless of age!" You showed teeth and smiled, greatly tolerated my recklessness that no one else. That afternoon I returned, inexplicably, there is a life tightly embraced by the half pain, half happy, I think, that arch must have hidden a world of memories.
After all, I am only good at verbal hegemony, in the future and your letters transmitting, only to find that your thin body underneath, condensed how many majestic sad quality of nature, and you y know how to bide your time, only willing to chisel a small hole, so that the life of the faceted child is the posture of the child playful in front of my eyes to come. We don't talk about life, more often than not, we meet on the campus road, but also just a word and a smile to say goodbye, but I firmly believe that: "This person is a great loneliness over the person!"
At that time, your face has long been due to latent lesions difficult to Jing, slightly tilted, anyway, has been cut and is a chronic tumor, do not have to care about it, only when you are exhausted, only emaciated, I told you to be careful, you come back to the letter does not hurt to say: "This morning, Wenxin class to see you hold the book drifting away, all of a sudden sprung up a kind of far away from flying feeling, did not have time to say to you, but I do not have time to say to you, I do not have time to say to you, I do not have time to say to you. I didn't have time to tell you. There is back on the sound rhyme, after class, is to see you tired and ambush, then feel also a shock. I remember one time late at night, I met you unexpectedly, you said that you came out of the general map, back to the dormitory. Under the color of the night, you walk decidedly, but through the layer of weak tired after the pale. I have not been able to greet you more, but you see my emaciation." You have always been reluctant to call me "Jian-Chen," saying that this word is too firm and resonant, and that it carries a bit of a sword; you would rather write down "Min-Chen" in a serious manner, saying that with this word "Min," I would be able to write in a flowing style. I was y moved. I am y moved, you a piece of lotus splendor, all for me cherish life, and what can I do for you? Character in the horizontal long lance poem of reckless temperament, always let me to the closest people to kill and conquer. Rarely have a back to a small gathering of light and light, parting, I do not care to scurry out of the beast, the forgetfulness of the raptor: "take care of yo, the next time we meet maybe nine days, or nine years." Your clear and face swept a trace of autumn, smiling broadly at the opportunity of these words, your letter of peace usually end like this: "writing, talking, happy day after day. See when you are free for a little talk. I fear a prophecy." After that, I left the college and spent day after day starving and thirsting for a starry night of bull-drinking. Occasionally there is an immortal poetic heart, only to write a sad letter to the people close to you, you always quickly back: "Out for three days, late at night to step in the rain to return, the eaves in front of a small stack of letters. In your kind handwriting, your letter invitations naturally make me like ...... my condition, good or bad, ultimately have to suffer a knife to see the difference. In the past two months, I have been holding a sick person, and I know that I have to pay endless love and patience to the flow of life. I think, he is a small healed, such as you Mercedes-Benz, must also be so. One step at a time is no more than a practice. So far, I am still y optimistic, the next day or get together, I hope that by that time your career has been finalized, I also bath learn the spirit." We are y optimistic about the future, a few high-fives, secretly to Chuangge self-approval, do not care to attack the tone. Negative to make talent such as me, spilling ink, seems to want to compete with thousands of people. You see me thin unusually, only commanded me not too night too tired, I aggravated, said: "just live so once, I want to soar!" You said: "Early wisdom, it is difficult to enjoy the days of life, ancient times."
You precious me this stubborn life, greatly more than your own. On my birthday, you went looking for jade to give me, a dragon and a phoenix around the bottle (ah...)! Could it be the vase of the Goddess of Mercy?) You said the old man selling jade said the texture of this piece of jade with lotus quality, on the way home through the South China Sea Road, you go to the Botanical Gardens of the lotus pond, gently gently this jade seeped and seeped ...... You said: "Life is always the feeling of the end of the prosperity, only that, do not stain the mud!"
The disease but with your axe to play bump, your eyes began to involuntarily tears, the night half of the often difficult to sleep because of wiping tears, you humbly claim that this is the cause of karma. In the mountains where you live in the poor field, you are like a virgin and life and death to talk about, holding the letter of the sick living alone, do not change the trickle of handwriting: "one day in the middle of the night can not sleep peacefully, out to the balcony. The sky was clear in the mountains, and the moonlight was pouring down on the ground in large sheets. Suddenly, I saw my own shadow under the moon, thin, thin, timid, very familiar to the eye, but that is clearly not the daylight 'I'. I was dumbfounded and thought, "Oh, yes - it's the 'me' from the fairy tale! I was so moved to look at that figure, and then I held him in my dream, and then I came to a realization that I would like to be like Zhuang Zhou, between being sick and not being sick."
Your second operation to remove a mutated sarcoma on the right side of the face, I presented you with a string of amber rosary beads, which was suddenly taken off by a master in the temple and presented to me, and I rejoiced at the "sudden" imagery in my life. You wore it carefully on your wrist and closed your eyes on your sickbed. I became naive again, as if I were a spy, giving you the antidote before you fought in the battlefield, so that you could boldly and fearlessly meet the poisoned arrows thereafter. After your illness, you said, "I am gradually willing to reduce all my sorrow and sorrow, obscurity, great pain and ignorance to a simple optimism, which I consider to be a sort of ultimate realm of life. You know it and I know it."
The most precious and beautiful thing is the six months before you went to Hong Kong to study comparative literature. You wrote less poetry and concentrated on devouring the canon of literary criticism, which you teased as an "anti-beauty" project, but told me to pay attention to the fact that you were not unattractive to beauty. I said, "I don't care what beauty you have in your house, if you read the original text every day and make a person look like a bean sprout, this kind of beauty is just like a bastard!" You always went back to Changyu Hospital every week to follow up on your condition, and we met at noon, when I was off duty, and you taught me to read. Often, in the small coffee shop in the city, you took out a stack of white paper and a pen, and after taking a sip of cold black tea, you began to call "Michel Foucault" for me in a hoarse, cloudy voice. I listened quietly with my knees wrapped around my head, and entered the most magnificent and feminine space that my mind could touch, and your words floated up: "I'm not sure if you've ever heard me read a book before. Your words floated up: "...... Nowadays, writing has become associated with sacrifice, even with the sacrifice of life ......" and I came to a realization:" Wait, the structure of my next book is out, do you want to hear it!" The koan of knowledge usually translates into the koan of creation I am a rusty knife, using you as a whetstone. Didn't you also say, my life is too big to listen to you, "Zi Wei". In fact, you are a distant peace, in order to you, I must constantly war.
Once, tea cold words, you took out a yellowed black and white photo for me to see: a ten-year-old boy leaning in the comic book store rental desk, white and clean timid, eyes have a mysterious attraction and micro-fueled sadness and joy, quietly with the world to see. I marveled, "How beautiful! Is it you?" You said joyfully, "Yes!"
That time, you sent me back to work at the newspaper, and along the brick road where the cottonwoods high-fived and the maples dropped their ink, you tersely exclaimed, "God! Give me time!"
One year in Hong Kong, you finally dropped out of school due to a massive hemorrhage, and went straight to Lin Kou Chang Yu from Chung Cheng Airport, where the doctor had issued a critical notice. You, however, turned to wake up quietly, looking at the hospital bed side of the coming and going of the friendly, fellow students, or, you are still waiting, when the parents who raised both dead, biological parents to be found. You could not eat at that time, sarcoma blocked the mouth and tongue, words can not be said. When you saw me coming, you struggled to get out of bed, and pulled out a piece of delicate soap from the cluttered baggage. How many years ago, I said that three baths a day were more than a joy to the heart, and you wrote on a piece of paper, "Take more baths!" That moment-that one moment that could only come once in a hundred million billion years-I wanted to put you to death so hard. For half a year, I resisted seeing you again, I wanted to give you seven hundred and forty-nine times of scriptural recitation finally could not read all, I suppressed every trace, strand and corner of the hang-ups about you. Only two times I dreamed of you, once you swept through the sky in the image of a naked child, I looked up and could not find the trace; once you came in style, with a white face, I was very happy, and asked, "Are you well?" You smiled but did not answer, for a long, long time before saying, "Not yet started to get sick which!" After waking up from the dream, I hated myself y. Hadn't the great joy and beauty of the present world been deconstructed enough? Even in the dream land where I can be the master, I have to cowardly surrender my arms. I am a coward after all, not worthy of a hero to talk about.
So, my beloved brother, let us remember the afternoon of that day, when all the dead gods and ghosts were supposed to sit quietly and listen to my narration.
That day, I borrowed a wheelchair and pushed you to the lakeside outside the hospital building, where the autumn sun spread out in a dense bulk, wheeling empty, occasionally strangling the reckless grass of the brick bank. I felt your thin bones like a long river sunset, my floating thoughts like the desert smoke. When we face the lake sitting quietly, about to forget this life in, suddenly, a line of egrets jumped out of the distant lake shore, Tuan Fuxing straight up and swept away from the lake, can no longer be found. The lake is still there, such as after the shipwreck, the quiet sea, there is no wind, the sky has clouds piled up.
You asked me on paper, "How many?"
I answered, "Twelve." You nodded peacefully.
Perhaps there is no longer any difficult-to-pronounce scriptures that are difficult for you and me. When you constantly conquer the sadness of life with the sadness of poetry, I try to disintegrate the cliff of predestination with the cliff of fiction; when I can't comfort you, or you no longer care for me, please always remember that in the flow of our thin years, there were twelve egrets flew across the lake in the fall.
Just like existentialism,
or Lao Zhuang,
or a cup of afternoon tea,
or two borrowed books.
You don't get mad at me if I do a hundred things to abuse you, or you only get mad for a little while. It seems that I have saved up a huge sum of money with you, and I can spend it all to my heart's content, but I can never use it all up. Sometimes out of proportion, you suo up a face after the vicissitudes of life, like an unfortunate way to ponder the unfathomable station, I know that I should apologize, touch your deep locks of the forehead and said: "Shifazi, who asked you to owe me. Not angry, angry still pay me interest."
Often in the breakfast date, or into the night market. Hot coffee, scrambled eggs on both sides, crispy toast, and three copies of the morning paper. You always put sugar in it for me, a round of white milk, and an impractical yawn. I liked the morning light, the flipping newspaper, and the smoke from the hot coffee more than what was on my plate, and when you half-coaxed me that being skinny would be ugly, I said, "Hey, just eat!" You really forked up the egg slices attack came, I never minced words to give the most direct salute: "Today's performance is good, a small credit!"
The morning always makes me happy, as if ingesting the power of the sunrise, from the sleepy eyes of the quiet shot into the flow of the hibernation, with the wildness of the Mercedes-Benz and the desire to conquer. Morning is harsh on you, you fog a face, listen to my spirited Prime picture of every job, to help you organize the day's schedule and the focus of the debate, the results of the battle may not be left to us, but we have fought a beautiful battle together.
At night, the city looks more foolish, and at night, I am usually a quiet mollusk, easy to recognize mistakes, good servants, and do not tie up people's self-esteem. You are active in the ink-colored time and space, with a sharp spirit to take me wandering in the marketplace. Bowls of marinated grouper soup and boiled shrimp were also memorable dietary risers. I excel at peeling shrimp and picking the spine-less fish to serve you. You can feel free to count my faults, judging the brutality of the day, I have always been good and obedient to repent to you. When the market quietly retreated and the night waned, I let out a long yawn, and you said, "Come on! Go home." You go your way, I go mine. This city is undoubtedly our giant room home, to each walk through the long passage, you go back to your bedroom, I have my sleeping couch.
It is true, then, that a more lenient law must be used to measure your track and mine. You don't have to give up the familiar tides of life because of me - whether they are the waves of past love, the waves of reality, or the approaching waves; and I don't have to modify the established order because of you - I have people I can't part with, programs of work, and about the future. choreography. When we meet, we take the opportunity to release ourselves from the twists and turns of the track, to join hands and find our way in a big, bold gesture. You still have a fairy tale that refuses to mature in your forty-plus-two timbre; (otherwise, why do you always sneak up on me with rubber bands?!) My twenty and seven gorgeous still forget not to go for the first time as a child's wantonness; (quite like to hold your big hand, one by one nibble on your fingers!) You are sometimes a child and sometimes an old man, I am sometimes a man and sometimes a beast, we vividly perform the role of the inner confinement, with the city as the stage, pedestrians as the blind audience. Those exhausting rules and regulations can not be overturned can always be forgotten, although you complained that half a life upside down can not be turned around, I have not encouraged you - those burdens have long been turned into the heart of the meat, after we broke up still continue to be carried by you. As such, I expect that every time we meet through rational analysis and emotional dredging, more to help you hump along. I know, love will fade love will be thin, but as a frank person, through the love shackles love locks after flogging, the moral righteousness, will be the most expensive life in the blue blood. As a result, you can be primitively exposed, often knee to knee one night, talk about you grow up alone north and south of the Yangtze River, talk about the dream and the reality of mutual annihilation, talk about you cloud smoke over the eyes of many women, talk about your far away wife and children ...... often, I see that a thirty years have not fallen in tears. In the same way, I was able to review in you the long-forgotten customs, belonging to the father and brother longing. Too feminine family circumstances, prompting the need to constantly train themselves to be strong, imitating the authority of male society; while the tone of my life, but the fate of the lyrical tradition, the kind of three autumn laurel ten miles of lotus, so you build a lake, I was able to sing all the dance shadow, the water mirror (ah.)! I must finally Oedipal complex). In fact, each of life's reclamation, to suck the fruit of all kinds of love, where the taste of the shortfall, people will always be the inner potential to do the other dimension of the reconstruction. You have been unknowingly modified by me, according to the image of my heart pronunciation; just as I am willing to bend over for you, will be pinched into a wide mouth of earthenware, in order to hold you after the collapse of the block of wine; any pile of love, if you can not inspire another role and rules to make up for the cliff between the dream land and the reality, it is not easy to be cherished by me.
So we debated marriage very sensibly.
You said, never rested love waves, always inevitably ended up in a depression, past women are not unloved, but found that the more love deeper and deeper into the quagmire; I said, this is deprivation, love is hidden in the invisible hand. You said, if we get married how? I asked, you see me why? Have you not been deterred by the locks of love that have fallen? You said, "I am not the same as a woman in your heart, but I belong to a kind of transparent neutrality - like day and night, sometimes as clear as a man, sometimes as open as a woman, and you can fully enjoy speaking, from the most rocky male peaks to the most feminine (you are sometimes as attentive as a handmaiden)," and I rejoiced in what you said, which means that a person creates a multiplicity of things in his/her inner life, which is the most important thing. （I rejoice in what you have stated, which indicates the infinite possibilities of a person's multifaceted creation of his/her inner life. And I am beginning to speak about the love that we have developed over the years in a different way and which is now a track (please note that those who abandon the worldly track usually take more effort to navigate themselves and there is no possibility of turning back). We have achieved a kind of nameless name, living in a room that can not be built, I do not ask you to become my belonging as I am tired of becoming a part of anyone, you do not have to give up anything that can get my infusion, I also have a difficult stubborn but can be cared for by you, we are actively together but also tasted had to leave, so that all we can have the morning light into the minutes and seconds of the marvel. If love is the most beautiful learning, I am willing to testify, it is because we have learned that giving is better than taking, freedom is better than collecting, transcendence is better than sticking together, and the morality of life is better than the world of Huaju. You must understand that marriage is only an ark in the sea of love, and if we are willing to ride the rafter on the sea, why do we crave for a short period of time - if we want to make waves, let's make waves to the end! I've already placed my bets, do you dare to be a banker?
Do we need another shell? Let the shell of the well-known rules of the game gradually engulfed our rules and regulations, to my personality, it is difficult to avoid the layers of deprivation of you; to your deep-rooted role in the male line, will eventually gradually interfere with me. Forgive my deep pessimism, and marriage has a majestic righteousness, but not for me - I like to experiment, easy to overthrow, so there is a constant, constant crack.
I would rather take this city as an uninhabited wilderness, that night, I fertilize on the flower platform of the building square, you seized, will carry me on the shoulder, humming a song, austere walk across two streets; after being crushed if there are internal injuries, the internal injuries are also with no one else's hearty. One day, late at night to say goodbye, my heart struck a torrent of sadness, can not bear to blame you for anything, just want to walk through the long night alone, you said the wind, took off his coat cloak me, escorted me to the car, waved to me frequently at the stop sign, and then alone to your waiting street, that split second, I and sword, want to stab the heart of the big chemical, and then get off the car at the next stop, run desperately, over the city will be extinguished the color of the lights, and then back to you, sweaty. Sweat drenched back to your back, how thin you pull out cigarettes, light a fire, a long spray to the night sky, like an unarmed man! I abruptly blindfolded you, biting your ear heavily: "Don't move!" You turn back, look at me, the look of dismay transformed into an indulgent maniacal laughter, I triumph I said.
In the borrowed time and space, we sit scattered in the city's most messy puffy walls, smoking inexplicable cigarettes, drinking cold wine, I will be the ashes flicked into your shoes, asked:
"Alas, you do not make it clear, what is the benefit of marrying you?"
You took off your shoes, knocked the ashes out, and said, "Three meals a day, two fancy clothes, a handful of pocket money for you to make."
I popped the ashes in again: "What do I do when I'm full?"
You pinched my neck: "This way, you write a book I read - play again to see!"
I popped the ash in again.
I casually drew a single knife
Walked a snowflake to cover the moon
Silent moonlit night
Only pigeons rustling up
How did you get here?
Obviously locking you up on the dreaming earth, scripturing the sun and the moon, powdering the spring and the fall, and allowing you to write poems idly, you flew over the Guanling, and came to me while it was not yet late in the year of the line and said, "Half a lifetime of drifting, and every time the rain beats the returning boat."
I can only say, "Good, sit down!"
About the mountain alliance in your life and the water passed, I have heard. After tea, your life actually made me think about the conspiracy, what kind of person, to change colors with the autumn water, what kind of love, to be able to hundred refined steel into a soft. I seem to see you at a young age, has been for their own imagination mirage, you are willing to become a halberd guards, for the ancient only survived a day, dedication to your gorgeous Xia general of the first heart.
Then, please do not blame life there is always a constant meteor, even if Dahua borrowed you vermilion imperial pen, you will not live up to the sad and heavy destiny, knocked down the person would rather axe the neck, do not care to steal life. This time to see you, although your eyes are still not clear, but also in a reed after the voyage, the life. I'm not going to be able to do that, but I'm going to be able to do that," he said.
Take me as you can not go back to the original home, hang my thoughts into the September 9 dogwood, and the late spring wind and rain, these are yours. I'm not going to be able to do that, but I'm going to be able to do that. But you have to promise, the first dream Ze fill for the gully, and then felled laurel as a pillar, rolling stone foundation, and not allowed to look back at me, so that I can hear the first cockcrow in the afterlife.
When you left, you left a key, saying that in case you lost your month to the Jindu, I could go and open the hut in your book.
When you left, you left a key, saying that in case you lost your way, I could go and open the cabin in your book.
You said, "And go to the temple to burn incense, like a mortal man and woman."
That day, I went to Bishan Rock alone, for you to burn incense, but did not say anything.
This is it, the flow of all seasons can never end. Three times a heart of Xing Guan Qun Grudge is rehearsing, but I am a little cold, perhaps I should go to seek pine needles, one day, perhaps to modify the conquest for self.
If the April sky refuses to crack, how does the lined garment of May begin?
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