From the unspeakable expression and look in her eyes when she told about her sister Leo's drowning death, I began to feel the extreme love and frantic state of mind in her.
She said that her sister was the darling of the whole family, and that her brother-in-law jumped into the water and died together because he knew it was irreversible. Afterwards, when outsiders prepared to comfort her, she said coldly, you must not know the benefits of having only one child at home.
What she is worried about is not her sister's death, but her brother-in-law's death together. She believes that her sister has the energy to be loved, and she is jealous that someone in her sister is willing to follow her forever.
She always dreamed that she was drowning, and she woke up frightened, perhaps not because of the fear of suffocation, but because there was no one around trying to save her, and no one willing to die with her.
"What's your name?"
"Leo"
saw his father's letter, and his father sent him living expenses and agreed to her marriage, so she said: I lied, my name is Adele.
When she felt unloved, she imagined herself as Leo who was loved, and when she felt loved, she said frankly, I am Adele. Feeling is so important to love, and Adele's sadness is that most of the time she feels unloved.
But when she had gone through thousands of mountains and rivers, the man who thought he could love her and followed her said to her: if he really loves me, leave, and what awaits her is repeated hurt and escape.
The fact that she left her father seemed particularly worthless at those moments. She thought it was her father who didn't love him, but in fact it was the man in front of her who didn't love her.
Her father, who she regarded as a stumbling block on the road of love, sent her living expenses, asked her to get married or go home, told her to write a letter with a larger font size so that the seriously ill mother could see it, and expressed his pedantic love in a pedantic way, even It was this pedantic love that prevented her from marrying in the first place.
What better way could there be for a child who ran away for love?
However, she still simplified the relationship with her father into an economic relationship, stubbornly thinking that her father did not love her, just like she stubbornly believed that the man loved her.
To Adele, these two men make it seem like maybe you don't think you're loved just because you think, not because you're really not loved, and when you think you're loved, it's just what you think. But what's wrong with that, isn't the destiny of love lies in being heard and perceived? Otherwise, why bother to seek it out. To believe in love is to believe in the feeling of love.
She inquired secretly, she made up lies, she followed, she disguised herself as a peep, she was hysterical. Love to the extreme, no matter how elf-like a woman is, she is a vulgar woman.
But this kind of vulgarity is only because the person you love is also a vulgar person, even though you think he is the only one, uniquely different from others. But the truth is that her lover, her knight, is a gambler, a libertine, a frivolous one.
And in the end, she already knew and even accused him of his misdeeds, but she still loved him. She told others to herself that you can despise everything about him, but you will still love him. The feeling of love has penetrated deep into the bone marrow. The small universe is so powerful that she loves not only the man in her imagination, but the evil man she knows well in reality. Facts can no longer defeat her feelings.
Carson McCullers wrote in "Sad Cafe Song": The value and quality of any relationship depends purely on the lover. Therefore, love is a kind of private feeling. When she loves deeply, she only believes in her own feelings about love. When she loves deeply, she no longer recognizes who he is, but she cannot forget that she still loves him. Finally, it has become an instinct again after the ups and downs.
She tried to tell herself that he loved her, she repeatedly stressed that she rejected him, that she was unwilling to marry him, she repeatedly claimed to be his wife, and when we were deeply in love, we just thought that the other party was the same as us Yes, love us as we love him, and everything is just a self-suggestion, an illusion.
I suddenly remembered what Oscar Wilde said: love begins with deceiving the other party and ends with self-deception. And she has the courage to choose to deceive herself all the time.
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