It's a wounded city, people are ready to travel far away, and soon there will be fewer and fewer people here.
The neon lights on Baptiste Street
Like elves dancing in the darkness
Across the empty streets in the early hours of a Sunday morning
It's the rumble of that old trolley car
The bars and clubs of Queen's Road West
There's always a song to sing along to
But there's only this café around the corner
Guarded by the The watery night and the coldness
Will you come back at 5:30 in the morning
Order a cup of black coffee and sit with me until dawn
I will put a bunch of hyacinths in front of the window
Look at your bright eyes through it
Will you come back at 5:30 in the morning
Order a cup of black coffee and enjoy the silence with me
I will put on an old song for you to listen to. I'll play an old song for you
And count the stars in the Milky Way with it
5:30 in the morning and you still haven't come
Sunday, I don't wanna say goodbye!
But the coffee is cold
And the hyacinth petals are already falling apart
People are ready to go.
This is a wounded city
Prose: Wounded City 2
There is no city that you can't touch, and there is no person that you can't hurt.
There is a city in everyone's heart, either a wounded city or a phantom city; there is a person in the depths of everyone's memory, either a good person or a dear friend.
The city, let you unlimited yearning, unlimited obsession; that person, let you soul.
Once upon a time, together with the fantasy in that beautiful city, enjoy the world of two people. The first time I saw this, I was in the middle of a long journey, and it was a long time ago that I was in the middle of a long journey, and it was a long time ago that I was in the middle of a long journey, and it was a long time ago that I was in the middle of a long journey, and it was a long time ago that I was in the middle of a long journey. The fragments of memory fell to the ground, full of mottled, stained with the death of the youthful madness.
Memory, is inadvertently open the wound of the past sharp knife, although the wound is small, is indeed a pain in the heart.
That said, the pain, but a hundred days long, and the memory of you can always trip in the deepest part of the mind. Do not touch, do not think, it will be quiet honest, but once you touch it, to think about it, it will once again let you scarred, sobbing.
Now, because of the teenager and unlimited yearning, unlimited addiction to the city, but also because of the teenager and the touch of pain, lost the courage to go there again. That around the embankment of the willow swaying in the wind, dipped in full of feelings of thick ink, in the water to write unlimited grief, but powerless to the east wind to tell; tung flower stained with the loneliness of the sad, lonely in mid-air circling, quietly fall in the memory of the land; Acacia rain patter, but far less than the heart do not know when to stop the rain.
Memory, buried deep in the heart of the red beans; Hurt City, forever touching the pain.
Prose: Hurt City 3
Lost between the pen of a teenager, in the hurt city of the desert road dance fingertips.
I forget how it started, I only remember that the beginning was sweet, and then there was your boredom, habit and abandonment. I'm not sure if you're going to be able to get a good look at this.
Once upon a time, in a short period of time, I thought we loved each other.
Once upon a time, for a brief period of time, I thought we were in love with each other, but now I know it wasn't love, it was a lie to myself.
There was a time when I longed to be with you. I was so helpless to leave on my own.
But now, I wandered between forgiveness and despair, the only feeling is hurt - hurt - hurt
New wounds over the old wounds, cover not as good as, repair is not good, only with time to slowly heal.
Perhaps I am still waiting. But I'm not waiting for you to come back, but to find an excuse not to leave.
Waiting, perhaps it is difficult to hurt, but it is easy.
You don't realize that it's not just your person who left me, but also my heart.
Life is only like the first time to see, at that time only is unusual.
Thank you for coming into my life.
The wounded city under the eyelash, passing by, whose 'scenery, whose heart.
The so-called long-lasting, but a misunderstanding.
Hiding in the streets of the world, watching you smile and penetrate the water.
This is the first time I've ever seen a woman in the world who has been in a hurry to get out of the house.
For whom to sing a song of separation, to whom to say love words, to whom to write the end of the world.
Decadence of the wounded city students, in the space of memory lonesome boundless.
Prose: Hurt City 4
The breeze is light, a few pieces of fallen leaves floating with the wind, a coolness, the feeling that autumn has arrived. The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on a new pair of shoes or boots, and you'll be able to get them to fit in your pocket.
Recently, the mood of melancholy, I do not know what is the reason, no gain or loss, just a kind of sadness from the heart seeped out, has been diffused on the brow, lingering.
I don't know what I'm looking for, but I'm not sure what I'm looking for, and I don't know what I'm looking for. The first time I saw this was when I was a student at the University of California, Berkeley, and the second time I was a student at the University of California, Berkeley.
The heart, began to numb, the Lord of the blue smoke can no longer take away the sadness, can only briefly numb the nerves of my brain. Alone, as if the world is so strange, as if never recognized.
No longer angry, no longer crazy, anything has no longer make me angry, happy. Alone, familiar streets, neon flashes, pedestrians, everything is so cold, cold people solidified, suffocation. In the reinforced concrete city also had too much pursuit,
But everything has been drifting away with the autumn wind, no longer look back, and even have not felt. Looking at the past face, or yellow skin, just thin skin underneath also hides a thick mask, bright eyes behind the idea of anyone can not guess. Moving up the heavy footsteps, and the same as the autumn wind moving around, aimless, feeling the cold air without a little bit of the earth's breath. Open your hands, want to embrace something, but feel so helpless.
Like a young winter bird on the ground in the desperate wail that kind of sadness. I want to clear my head, but I realized that my heart is full of wounds, and I can't cut one out anymore. Full of green, but do not feel vibrant, just this cold city of some of the backdrop, in fact, that is more visible Cangliang.
Joy, anger and sadness in this city interpretation of the best, life as a stage, who is watching, who is interpreting, who is playing who is happy, who is watching who is sad. Shenzhen, such as just, if sad, please calmly, forget; if happy, please invite confidant *** enjoy, write down a happy page.
Prose: Hurt City 5A lamp, alone with the bleak. The first thing you need to do is to get your hands dirty.
Whether. I'm not sure if it's a good idea, but I'm sure it's a good idea for me. I am the wisp of white clouds after the fall, gathered and scattered forever living in the pain of meeting and parting.
Although the moon is full, the sky is certainly cloudy, and why I was forever stuck in the endless sadness.
If life is just a first sight, why do I have to go forever immersed in the pain of the moment of parting, the wrong is wrong in why the heavens gave me the most beautiful things, but then to take her back. Let me alone to guard this will never open the door, let me wait for this will not turn back in the last train back. Tonight, each other side of you, for whom to show hibiscus out of the water like flower face. In this world, I am alone with the white residual temperature, and walk through this life.
Is not youth: a dream, a bitter, and then sigh.
Then, why, I am on this short flower scene and go to haunt, to repent this life? This night is again prosperous will fall the bleak quiet, the night is still the same night, but I have long been not once I, lifting up a cup full of melancholy, drunk this night, hopefully after waking up everything will return to the former good, and I found that the past is still the past, has not changed. Just, right and wrong have been stale, has been the story of the past. Why do you need to read this world of feelings, who understand who's hurt? Now, in this season of autumn wind, I still can only put Xiao long night sigh.
In this season of sadness. In this lost city to go where are so sad looking at the pieces of falling autumn leaves. It is so poignant ......
Yes! Life has not turned back to the car, often missed, the end will not come back, I just do not want to miss it again, so I go to wait hard, go hard to pursue. I just don't want to be alone in this lost world far away.
Why write words so sad, imprisoned himself in the city of hurt, who gave the words a sad soul, this beautiful city into a city of mourning!
Prose: Gotham City 6
Even if you stay open in the water daffodils, don't forget that the lonely corner of the valley wild lilies also have spring.
I wrote many, many poems about you
I wrote many, many things about you
I also wrote many, many things complaining about you
Then I realized that I was wrong, and that I had put a heavy weight of words on you
You never seriously read y, and you never seriously savored it
You felt that I was
You think I am blaming or hating you
Or even making you afraid, escaping, or unsettled
That walks between the lines of my heart!
For more than a year, I have been wandering in confusion, searching and groping at the door of someone's soul, but I have never had the courage to break in
She was afraid that her unintentional intrusion would destroy the quiet life of another person
She is now nineteen years old, and soon she will be twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, and in love, and will get married
In the past I hoped to marry a man who was you, but in future the chances are that it may be a few percent.
So she hoped to sneak in his heart for the last time, leaving the footprints in different shades
Prose: Hurt City 7
One Hurt One White Hair, One Step, One City Empty.
One thought, one new hate, one dream, one floating life.
-- "Hurt City"
Su Beibei initially recognized the man called "Mo Fei" in the summer of last year.
Su Bei Bei first met the man called "Murphy" in the summer of last year. That summer, the rain was not enough to wash away the heat of Beijing, and did not bring any hint of coolness.
Bei Bei looked out the window at the ticking raindrops, which fell from the eaves and hit the balcony. I do not know if it is the wind blowing from far away, the sound is a little trembling, through the noise of the children next door came to her, blowing her white delicate face.
She looked down and saw an unread message in her cell phone chat app.
Murphy is in the distant Xi'an.
Bei Bei's hometown is in Hebei, for the word distant, she knows better than anyone else: distant, just a concept, just a generalized description of the distance.
BeiBei has been working alone in Beijing for many years, and because of her work and career, she rarely goes home. Every time she goes home, she has to take a moving train for a few hours. Maybe that's when she realized that the so-called distance is just a concept measured in time.
And time?
Time is also just an abstract concept, is the continuity of all material changes in the movement of the performance of the sequential. Time is also the world's most gentle existence, it can be in the long years to wash a person's mind, wash a city, wash everything in the world. But time is also the world's most ruthless existence, it can let a person, a city, let everything in a long time to be discarded, buried, and ultimately destroyed.
So what about using time to measure the distance?
Bei Bei and Mo Fei have a good conversation. Murphy is a witty and understanding man, and no woman can afford to be so sincerely concerned and pampered when she is tired from work.
When Bei Bei said this, I was on a business trip to Lanzhou, and was watching the moon climb up the branches of the trees, and the wind shook a leaf, withering the whole of the light time of the fall. I asked BeiBei: "Have you ever been to Xi'an? I have been there, is an ordinary city, nothing special."
Bei Bei sent a message, wrote: "I went, I thought I could stand by the moat that night to see the city wall, but I only saw the noisy crowd outside the Zhengzhou train station."
Bei Bei was finally able to have a few days of leisure when she finished a big case. She bought a moving train ticket and drove to the long-awaited Xi'an, fantasizing about the city wall surrounded by moats, sitting in Yanta Square to see the beautiful fountains, admiring a piece of landscape hanging in the gate of the academy, and finally drowning in Mo Fei's chest.
Bei Bei held back until the train was many miles away, and Beijing behind her was getting farther and farther away, disappearing into the grayness of the falling night. She dialed the first call to Mo Fei, but there was no answer, followed by another call, still no answer.
I looked at the message she sent, all the information can get a guess: she did not see Murphy.
Bei Bei did not go to school after her first year of high school, and at the age of eighteen, she went to Beijing to work in this densely populated city. She has cried, laughed, suffered, and been happy. I know everything about her, from her mouth, and from other people's mouths as well.
I was like an observer standing on the walls while she was surrounded by the walls of life, trying, struggling, failing, succeeding, sad, happy. I want to be an observer, more than just listening to her story like a passerby and then laughing it off. I also want to be the master of this walled city, so that I can let her out of the city, to find the scenery, to find joy.
Murphy did not want her to come to Xi'an, or what Bei Bei did was not what Murphy wanted, or more to the point: Murphy did not like Bei Bei as he usually said, in fact, he did not like Bei Bei.
In fact, Mo Fei made an excuse when he called back, when the train was about to arrive in Zhengzhou. Bei Bei got off the train and stood outside the crowded station, looking at the street lamps brightening the road, the elongated shadows on the ground fishing for a side of despondency. The loneliness jumped on the palm of the hand, seeped into the skin, straight to the heart.
Bei Bei bought a ticket back to Beijing, but hesitated. There are some unwilling factors at the bottom of the heart, some failed to complete the yearning in the mind to form a section of the scroll, each one is a landscape.
The landscape is suitable for sentimental, and memories can only be suitable for collection.
A sudden figure passed by in a trance, the cell phone in the hands of Bei Bei was stolen, the thief a few steps across the guardrail, disappeared in the corner of the alley. Bei Bei did not think much about what, with an ID card to get a train ticket, righteousness like into the train station, driving to Beijing.
I asked Bei Bei: "Have you ever looked for him again?
I asked Bei Bei, "Did you ever look for him again?
Bei Bei said, "Yes."
Back in Beijing, bought a new cell phone, a new number. Bei Bei learned from her friends about Mo Fei's phone number, she is still not willing to accept the fact that she wants to retain him.
I always think that Bei Bei is too stupid, in love, it seems that they do not have the slightest dignity. Some people say: when you break up, you should turn around and stride forward without looking back. And I recalled the past bits and pieces, and then realized: I am no different from BeiBei, each of us has been BeiBei.
The night in Beijing is always illuminated by countless lights, while BeiBei is always lying in bed, counting how many happy moments are left that she has never forgotten. She finally realized: using time to measure the distance, it turns out to be really far, far away.
This is a very sad fact, we live in the busy city, gradually lost the time to seek happiness. And every city is a walled city, we are surrounded by endless time inside, can not break free. I can't be the master of the city, I'm just a flag bearer, and when one day she didn't know what to be embarrassed about, I would like to raise the white flag to surrender to the city, and teach her to learn to give up those doomed to pass the vicissitudes of the years.
Prose: Hurt City 8What I want is not you, it's the only one.
--Title.
Perhaps once obsessed with should not get, for a home country mountains and rivers, look back suddenly, do not see a person Lingding, the world from now on white as a companion, lifting eyes for the boat.
Perhaps see him to bear the beautiful people's knees, three cups of shaking wine, listen to a sentence **** please, then whisked away.
The emperor drunk is benevolent favor, but do not see the only.
There are only a handful of soulmates in the world, and I am most reluctant to be negative, but I am negative about you.
--The title.
The most unfair exchange in this world is for one person negative one person, red face scourge, there is always a person to bear the appendage, a person to stick to the son of the smile to see.
The red face a smile white bone withered, pouring people.
The first time I saw a man, 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.
How do you know that the promise has become ash, turn around and see the person at the beginning.
The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on a new car, and then you'll be able to get your hands on a new car.
The cold temperature, is the day to the crime.
Since ancient times, there have been many sins, but a positive, an evil.
Once geometrical Xu war came, under the tree for the peace prayed for, pious a pair of eyes, get the mirror to move already personnel.
In the ruins of the wall, the remnants of helmets and broken armor blood stained yellow sun, cover a pair of eyes, may not see.