Duras, and her words, affect me, as well as the emotions in her bones.
For so long, I always want to say something and remember something. The hot and humid air of Nanyang, the deep gasps in the dimly lit house, the calm face of the girl who is over age, the man's flustered and drooping eyes.
These fragments are always suddenly flashed, "pop" posted on my forehead,
but I like that girl of fifteen and a half, watching, not saying a word.
I was fifteen and a half years old... that year.
Suddenly my head fell to one side. The golden light fell straight down.
The air in the lens is humid and sultry, and a little spark can trigger an explosion. The children quarreled, their voices high and noisy.
The text is calm and cool. When you turn the pages of the book with your fingers, the fingertips feel smooth to the touch. The noise was subtle and distant.
Let us remember it again. Every detail, every touch of emotion. I imagined an elderly author sitting in front of the window, and the European-style streets outside the window instantly turned into a crowded Southeast Asian country. Hot air flows on the road. There are no four seasons, only hot summer. The hustle and bustle of the night is dizzy, all kinds of smells are tangled and mixed, just like dreams. A little dizzy, a little blurred, emotionally ambiguous and blind.
The girl is wearing a big hat. A sprout, underdeveloped body under the dress. The appearance is not outstanding, but some inappropriate maturity that does not match his age.
The man watched her from behind the sliding glass window. Look at him always that look. Fascinated, nervous, focused, cramped.
Liang Jiahui combed his short, well-defined hair, and his fingers trembling unconsciously. He is so cautious and cautious.
Make love for the first time, he cried in front of her like a child
that is too thin body.
In the dim room, the naked body was undulating, breathing slightly. In the hot air, indulge in the beauty of sweat glands.
The streets are filled with all kinds of smells and sounds. Sunlight casts on the ground and walls through the panes.
friction. The sticky sweat oozes out, as if the skin is weeping.
Like that sad man, he is always embarrassed and chatty. I don't understand anything, I'm afraid of everything.
In the memory. He loves her so much that he can't stop not loving her. Years later, when she was old and pale, walked slowly, sleepy and drowsy, and her well-developed body was dying day by day, he said that I still love you, and I never forgot you.
Duras recalled that her love for him was unreasonable.
On the leaving boat, she saw the familiar black car, and she could feel the depressed man in the car looking at her all the time.
In the lens, Jane Marsu's expression is quiet and empty.
The faint blue light ran down between the skin. Her hair is messy, sticking to her cheeks wet. She opened her mouth slightly, tired and happy.
Joy, even if joy, is only half-closed eyes and expressionless.
The tone of the film has always been monotonous, dim and gray, only the eye-catching Chinese Red Cultists when the man got married.
Time is so fast, the joy is deafening.
After many years, they all shrank into a faint cry. It's just that the eyes full of red, like the summer of memory, inserted in the memory, like a piece of ice on the vest.
Duras's lover lives in memories, flashbacks, and past events are vividly remembered.
The lover in the movie uses the back of the old woman to tell the audience that everything is a memory. Then the phone rang, and the old voice was suppressed.
The text of "Lover" is like a movie. However, the imaged "Lover" has stories but no memories; there are memories but lack of love.
Maybe love really didn't exist that day, only because of memories, it can inhabit.
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