I can finally speak clearly.
What is clarity and how is speech? We didn't stutter at the beginning. When did we stutter? When did we need a psychologist. Is it okay to express fluently with the salvation of others? Language cannot express, it is too pale.
Mom, why do we quarrel as soon as we meet, if I do anything to sorry you, please forgive me. You didn't speak, and hung up the phone, leaving a long empty tone. I felt like I was alone again. Why are you always silent, is it a kind of powerlessness, or a kind of rejection.
You and I have too much to say.
My mother is the person in charge of doing things, the woman who runs because of a word error in the printing house. She is never afraid, and she never expresses comfort, because words cannot express.
Others say that you are just acting very independent. If there is something unsatisfactory, you simply assume that it does not exist, which will make your husband and children miserable. To say this is cruel to a mother.
Mom, are you still beautiful? Did a man talk to you when you were sitting in the field and smoking? Still the familiar sound of running water, your face is like our old house, the ceiling suddenly collapsed, everything started to rain heavily, and through the glass I could see your momentary aging. You have never been old, so there is no need to fear death, we will all reach the final seashore. You are thinking about whether to marry Dostoyevsky again. He is a third-rate writer. He hasn't produced any works when he was forty years old. You defended him, why are you defending? The novels he wrote, Did you talk about the essence of life? In any case, you are the Eurydice who is worthy of love, you just have to keep going forward, don't look back.
My father, he gave his life to the war, and didn't let us care about him when he left. Does he love us? It's just his guilt. He thought about taking me away, but he didn't think about how to make us happy. My impression of my father is the military high-altitude balloon that covers the sun, the pain of the eardrum trembling from the plane on the head, and the wet pants and legs sticking together when wading across the river. I don’t remember his father’s appearance, I just remember He once wanted to take me away. Perhaps the last impression he gave me was the phone call he gave me, the communication between our men, he asked me to find a girlfriend, he mentioned to me the girl with light yellow hair and chapped lips is you, I Mother.
I can't remember exactly how you and I get along. The time and space in my memory have been disrupted, and sometimes you are in black and white, and sometimes in color. I remember that when you killed the chicken, the white feathers were flying everywhere. I didn't dare to see how much blood it shed. At this time, I felt that I didn't know you.
I have a lot to say to you, the language is too pale.
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