# Time is the greatest healer. Any more wounds disappear into the skin, dissolve into the heart and become beautiful patterns on the ventricular walls.
# If you've had some to forget, if you're still willing to remember.
If the aroma and heat of summer can still turn up the ages that sleep within you.
If the shade of balsam fir still can't resist the red heat of the sun on your eyelids.
If the lonely skies of those youthful days have not yet completely come out of your dreams.
Then ......
# The world as we see it - the balsam camphor trees are flowing green, the sunlight becomes transparent in the afternoon, meandering to all the places it can reach, not far away from the bus stop comes the busy sound, because the dozing and falling asleep, casting a shivering shadow, cobwebs looming in the corners. The air was taut with a calm and soothing rhythm, as if it had stopped at this point forever, so much so that there was absolutely no need to consider what direction it would evolve into in the future.
# This world we see, if it does not meet the cut of time, if it does not meet the speed of derailment, if it is not lit up, and finally, like a piece of fallen soot, blowing away in the air, as if it were nothing ...... then, perhaps it will always bring the fragrance of balsam camphor tree biting cold, with a A perfect cross-section, stay in this place closest to the summer.
# As if heaven and dreams turned out to be within reach, the drumming on the clouds can fall to the ground.
# Until the gears of fate finally toppled the original building in the rotation, so that they from the soft and harmless layer of life directly into the second layer of the world, only to realize that "the future" is not a shield against everything, it is a huge weight, pulling the person to fall down leisurely. Where you want to go and who you want to go with are not up to you. The hand that reaches out to grasp the thorns of the thorns, dry and sharp into the skin.
# It turns out that youth is such a fragile thing that cannot be retained.
# We have to hear a gale blowing through the canyon to realize it is the wind.
# We have to see white clouds floating over the mountains to realize that they are clouds.
# We have to love to know it's love.
We also have to hate to know that hate is also because of love.
#1995 Summer to Balsam Fir Unknown Ground
Balsam Fir and Balsam Fir, what kind of story? In a gap between a head up and a head down someone whispered.
Then everything became subtle. The eyes have the temperature of the palm of the hand has a moist.
Those skies hastily bloomed in the summer, the sun has the most prosperous plucking.
She hurried past him, and so the floating grass blossomed with eloquent flowers;
he waited quietly behind her, and so the setting sun closed its heavy door;
he and he grew silent through the seasons, the dusk of the past, and the mornings that had not yet come.
She and she grew slower and slower through the summers, and the hands that were drawn took the hands that were not drawn.
Some melodies were never actually sung, some torches were never lit.
But the world has a sound and a light.
Then time became heavy and small, and the storm easily broke through the thin door.
That city has never aged, it stands inside the memories stand into the school dusk when no one left behind the loneliness and solitude.
The camphor head and tail cover all the city's dome.
In the shadows, there is a decade late confession.
Oops, I'm singing, do you hear me?
Ahhhhh, who's singing, I hear you.
# There are places you may never have been to, but when you walk on them for real, you feel that you came years ago, a dozen years ago, or even decades ago, or even a length of time beyond your own age, that you arrived, that you lived in truth, and that you stroked every corner of every place.
Some writers say that this is because the air is floating in the brain waves left behind after the death of the people who used to live here, each with a different frequency, and the chance that these frequencies are the same is negligible, but there is still a very small probability, so that the living people, can receive these waves floating in the air, these waves, that is, "memory! "
And the fact that it's not a memory, it's not a memory.
And that one frequency of brain waves that you happen to be able to receive, the person who left that set of brain waves, is what we used to call, a past life.
# Those shadows look like they still remain in the empty campus, wandering and humming songs that were sung in youth and are now forgotten.
# They said that there is always a clean continent in this world, and Xiao Si thought that one day I would find it.
They say there's always a quiet island in this world, and Xiao Si thought I could sleep on it for decades.
# All the love, all the hate, all the memories damp in the heavy rain, all the balsam fir,
all the tears and embraces, all the searing years etched in the heart,
all the flourishing and discrete lives,
all swooped together in the grand death of that summer solstice yet to come.
# Close your eyes to see the cleanest world.
# In such a crowd as huge as the Milky Way galaxy, what a small chance there should be to meet someone.
# And then become familiar, dependent, or hostile, hateful with these people.
The emotions involved, entangled into relationships, dense into feelings.
# 1996 Summer Solstice Colors Polaris
When the tide rushes up the age-old embankment, and summer connects to the next summer,
what kind of you?
When the rain swept over the village in the blazing sun, summer flooded the next summer,
What are you like?
Skipping the green spring, the sad autumn and winter and the next year's even greener summer,
You appeared in front of me again.
You're in front of me again, with your eyes downcast. You turn around and take away a whole city's worth of rain,
and then turn around and bring back the colored snow. The wheat plucks. Thunder rumbles across the land.
You splashed ink on the broken words of desire in the corners of the walls, and so rendered a summer without a fall.
The next year came and went. But not waiting for a solstice that breaks the cry. The summer solstice that never arrives.
The search for the escape is back and forth.
He never saw her.
She never saw him.
No one ever sees it. The solstice that never came. The world began to pour. The tidal floods were approaching.
# As if hearing the sound of countless birds suddenly flying overhead, snowflakes mixed with flowers fell together in a flurry.
Lixia looked up again and saw Fu Xiaosi's clear eyes, like the North Star for a moment to make Lixia lose her sight.
In the lower right corner of Fu Xiaosi's painting appeared the signature that Lixia had seen countless times - Priest.
# The first second smile froze on his face.
Herbs spread to cover the barren hillside. Those wastelands that had been sleeping for so long were finally rendered soft and textured with green.
The second smile changed its arc.
Sadness covered the face and the tide rushed in. The tide, heard all those nights, closes in toward the end.
The third second tears spread over the entire face like a tidal wave breaking through the dike.
Summer swept through the memory like a flood.
The fourth second ...... The fourth second doesn't matter anymore.
Lixia knew she was crying.
# 1997 Summer Solstice meets Swallowtail Butterfly
If it could not be met ten years ago. Whether it can never be met.
In the years when the fog clamored every corner of the city.
The reeds sprouted and then died.
Wings cover the sky in a hurry. Unspeakable conjectures remain.
Shadows of the tide are scattered along the road.
Black hair is colored white. The snow is tinted black.
The day is colored black. The night is colored white.
The world turned upside down, back and forth, up and down, black and white.
So I became your reflection.
I live forever in a world completely different from yours.
Bury the morning and the evening.
Buried a swarm of gorgeous, flamboyant swallowtail butterflies.
You are my dream.
# Xiaoji, if you stop for a second at that time, maybe my question can be exported. Are you ...... a priest? Is it the ...... unique person I've been loving for two years?
# Each of us meets this kind of that, all kinds of different people in our lives. Some pass by, leaving a blurry face that survives for three seconds of memory. Some people, but like dust toward the life of the gathering, sand sculpture-like polymerization into a sculpture, standing in the square of life.
# - "Hey, come here."
-- "Good."
Such dialogues are repeated and frequent in every human life. No one could have predicted what kind of imprint such an ordinary conversation would make on their lives.
Ten years ago, we did not understand, and ten years later, we can not remember.
Only the syllables from the beginning remain, hollowed out in the stale air.
# Rixia, do you know, at that time I had no friends in Asakawa First High School, before I met you, I had no friends since I was a child, so the feeling of someone caring for me for the first time made me feel warm, it was as hot as the setting sun. Do you believe it, even now, many years later, I still think so.
--2002-Meets
# Time becomes a narrow walkway. Memories and habits are marked along the way.
# Lixia, maybe you never knew it, it was because you waited for me every night, so I didn't even feel scared on the dark road back, and I didn't feel cold when all that rain was pouring down on me.
Perhaps one becomes extra brave when one knows that there is someone waiting for him in front.
---1996-Meets
# Like disappearing time. And all the voices.
# There are some feelings that used to haunt the world without notice. For example, if you are worried about the fall of a kite, suddenly there is a warm spring breeze. For example, if you are worried about a cloudy day, you will suddenly see the sun shining.
# Meet, if that day, you are not timely appeared in my back, I will certainly be like a stage lights under the clown in tears.
Tears represent nothing but cowardice. I suddenly realized what you said to me.
No matter how proud and indifferent I am in front of people. But I am really a weak person. I want to be as brave as you, like a beautiful and proud swallowtail butterfly. But I still shed many, many tears over many little things. Even now, I still haven't learned to be strong.
But you never hated me.
---1997 - Lixia
# Meet, take your hand, no matter where, I feel like running towards heaven, do you believe?
--- 1999 --- Rising Summer
# And after a brief moment of silent silence, the world was noisy again. And so the silence and the clamor and the silence and the clamor went back and forth like a slow pendulum.
# Xiao Si, sometimes always think, even if to stay around you, even if it can not help anything, but can tell you that you are not lonely, that is also good. Whether it's when you were a child, or your radiant present. I always think you have your own unique world, no one can understand your language, so afraid that you will be alone and lonely. I grew up with a very silly idea: two people are bored together, then it is not considered boring right ...... so until now, I think from time to time, Xiao Si he now, lonely?
So when I was on the streets of Japan all these years, and occasionally saw a sudden shower of cherry blossoms, I would think, Fu Xiaosi is not there, what a pity.
It's such a frustrating regret to see the beauty of the world alone and have no one to share it with. I want to photograph the beauty of the world and bring it to you.
-- 2003 - Lu Zhiyang
# And what will everyone be like in five, ten, twenty years? Will one bring a big bag of snacks from one's own company like now, crossing the crowded streets, walking through the traffic lights, crossing the crosswalk, walking past one stranger after another, and then appearing in front of them?
# There are always so many people and so many cars on the road, and they rush in their own direction. No one cares about the direction and journey of another person, everyone is on their own journey through thick and thin. The bustling crowd on the street repeats the noise and chaos day after day, countless footprints just printed immediately covered by new footprints.
# Time melts into liquid. It encompasses all bodies.
It was like all the babies sleeping in the ocean of the womb. The setting sun rendered from the end of the long street and shone through the whole street.
# A nerve in the body that doesn't know where it's coming from sharply signals pain.
Summer is almost over, isn't it? The long, sleepy, psychedelic summer.
# 1998 Summer Solstice Warm Mist Breaks
Time reverses into red morning mist, and day and night gradually equalize.
I began my lonely years in a world you had long forgotten, eyes closed and ears blindfolded,
cheering with tears in my eyes,
to not see you was to not see the world.
The darkness is like a tidal wave engulfing tens of billions of planets. The sunflowers die in great swathes. Migratory birds are buried in flocks.
One heavy voyage after another with no way to see it coming.
Who waved his hand expressionlessly and then isolated the world from then on.
Silent is your dismay. And your pale side face.
The world actually never woke up, it was sleeping quietly under the collar of your shirt.
A white horse passes. Whiskers instantly pierce the skin. The youthful flag flying high hunts the wind.
It turns out that you have long since grown up and become a king with a crown on his head,
and I was dumbfounded to think that you were still a pale-faced little prince.
They say that as long as there is a little prince in the world, there will always be a fox waiting for love.
When the swallows return in a hurry with green in the coming year,
do you still look down under the balsam fir as you did in the summer when you were seventeen years old,
and then meet me,
in that long, psychedelic, never-ending summer.
# With a quietness unique to the time before death, vast and disempowering.
# The world seems to have turned into a splendid fruit, except that there is a worm in the kernel that is slowly eating away, bit by bit, bit by bit, biting out the flesh of the kernel and gradually approaching the rind. Before that sharp break through the rind of the bite, the world is still shiny and oily, only the rustle of the silkworm, from the center of the world a little bit of dull spread out.
# Fu Xiaosi felt his eyes sting uncomfortably, he thought in his mind in a trance, perhaps it is the people around him are black, the whole black world, only Lu Zhi'ang is pure white, so he will feel stinging. And this weak and powerless white color, in the dark boundless world, like an innocent and soft white fluff.
# It was like the train that often appears in the dream world, making a regular sound of rails crashing. It's like someone with a knife, looking for the weakest and most unsuspecting part of us to gently stab in, and then pull out, bloody, and then stab in again, until finally the pain becomes numb, the present becomes a blur, and the future becomes a place where no one can know the end.
, Graduation is a pane of glass, we have to smash it and then walk through it rubbing the sharp shards, and after the blood and guts start a completely different life.
# And this change is dissolved in this whole year, like salt sprinkled into the water, gradually dissolved and finally can not see a trace.
# And this change is dissolved in this whole year, like salt sprinkled in water.