In fact, they always say that I am old. Otherwise, why do I always get "talented" online messages and the real girl's blank eyes? The middle school students on the river embankment have embraced this life and this world. When I was in middle school, I would still go home obediently after school and listen to "Mount Lenin" and "Lake Baikal" in my headphones. There is also "Spinning Girl". That was when Dad was driving Volga, I dreamt about love prematurely. Fancy a little frozen red face in the snow, fancy a bunch of candied haws, fancy Martell's sorbet on the tip of your nose. Fancy holding your hand, really won't separate.
But the screenwriter is so kind. He smeared the beginning and end with syrup for you to taste, and put a curtain on the bitter journey so that you wouldn't be heartbroken. How are you in those days? What is the legend of your life in those invisible years? The shadowless lamp beside the cold bed in the obstetrics and gynecology hospital was still roaring silently, and then the lonely lamp of the long light all night, the children who had just fallen asleep and many homework that had not been studied.
It's fake, isn't it? I mean in life-in that cruel life, how many people will be able to break through those winds and torrential rains? She wants to support herself in times of economic distress—a pair of orphans and widows. She wants to achieve such a great academic achievement that she can obtain, graduate, and distribute employment in the big city of Moscow as a foreigner. Doing tricks can climb to the top in this tricky collectivism.
Or she really has the unspoken rules at that time, and how many people will become another kind of people once they climb to the top. The kind of person she hated. She will betray her ideals, betray her kindness, betray the class she comes from, become a leader who excels at exploits, become a bureaucrat who colludes with each other, become a nouveau riche chasing material things, and become a person who finds pleasure in the relationship between the sexes. The slut... That's it! But your life, your love... You actually succeeded after taking it down.
This is a fairy tale. And you are the treasure in the story.
They said that adults no longer read fairy tales, so I must be very young. They were all swaying around in stupid stupidity, then I must be an old man who likes to sleep with Tacitus on his pillow. I and all people like me are still looking forward to a past that ended prematurely. I miss the absence of hedge funds that wisely break their own retreat, and miss the fact that there are no shit CEOs who leave Limin in disregard. I miss the eulogized-the sacred and ordinary love, and the watchman of a young fitter and blacksmith under the hawthorn tree.
Miss you. Alexandra.
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