The story begins in a hut with yellowed photos on the walls. Outside the house is the boundless sea and submerged houses with only roofs left. Occasionally flying one or two seabirds breaks the lonely tranquility. The protagonist lives alone and likes to smoke a pipe. He opens the floodgates on the floor and puts down his fishing rod to fish, because here, fish is the only staple food. He lived in his own building block hut stacked on top of each other, and the sea water flooded a foot, and he continued to build the first floor up. Layers of huts and layers of memories are sealed on the seabed. Stick to here, stick to the deep memories.
When I woke up one morning, the sea actually filled the hut again, and I left this floor helplessly, and continued to build the hut up, as if people had to leave their original memories, whether happy or painful, by the tide of time. Pushed and kept going forward, unable to stop. While picking up furniture in the sea, with a thud, the beloved pipe fell down the gates on each floor. After searching all the pipes, no matter how good they are in the eyes of others, they are no match for the one I am used to, and no one can replace them. So put on a diving suit, go through the gate, and go to the bottom of the sea to find that favorite. After crossing the first gate, I found it, picked it up, and was amazed. When did this scene happen? Yes, the old woman once helped herself pick up this pipe in this room, and my heart slammed, it had happened before. Things won't be forgotten, just can't be remembered, all we need is to dive into the sea and open the floodgates of memory.
I couldn't help but pass through the next gate, where there was a shapeless bed soaked in seawater, ah, not long ago, I was feeding medicine to the old woman lying on the bed. Further down, down, a family of five is taking a family photo... The daughter brought back the person she loves... When my daughter was a child, she piled up wood in the house... It sank to the bottom of the sea, where there was a big tree, where I met my wife, The cup buried in the sand, we used to raise a glass to invite
...
Some are lonely, some are lonely and go back to the newly built hut above the sea level again, take out two wine glasses, fill up with red wine, old lady, let's have a glass. The story came to an abrupt end with the sound of clinking glasses. Loneliness is destined. As long as we are not alone and have those rich and precious memories, we will no longer be alone.
Impressionist painting style and melodious music remind everyone of that summer. I also think of the pure world that has not been polluted by human beings.
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