He originally wanted to go back and create a warm illusion at the end of his life.
There is one thing I want to verify that my departure is right. But I want to poetically go back to my past and create a perfect family atmosphere.
Everything works as imagined. A calm, polite and well-meaning opening.
A little embarrassment, a little comfort. Complain a little, apologise a little. A little sincere, a little deliberate.
Still remember some good feelings from the past. A spring day in the outskirts of the family together, the palm of a lover in youth.
But I can only tell my true thoughts to my friends, without thinking and honestly. "I'm afraid of them."
He was dragged by his mother to chat in the hut, held by his mother who had just sprayed perfume, the wind was blowing the curtain, he stared straight at the raglan curtain, he must have been moved by the tenderness of that moment, he must have been there At that moment, I couldn't hold back, I wanted to reveal his vulnerability and fear, and almost said the reason for his return. How many times will people re-believe by chance because of these tender moments? Fortunately he didn't speak.
With untimely sentimentality and nostalgia, he hesitated again and again. No one knew he was going to die.
He was in the car talking to his brother about unimportant things, details of the way back. Description like taking out the trash. He jumped right into the conversation without thinking, chatting like friends, thinking they were as close as they were when they were kids. In these subtle ways, he attempts to express his kindness and concern. By revealing his nuanced feelings, he was careful to show affection. Human tragedy is often the result of a fluke hope of being understood. But it was clear that his brother had been twisted by the long-term anger, and he rudely asked him why he was talking such nonsense to him? He pretended to use his description method to repeatedly humiliate him to express his inexplicable hatred. Gentleness is often torn apart by violence over and over again in this way of being trampled repeatedly, and continues over and over again. He looked at his chattering brother and the shadows of the trees outside the window. I guess there was a moment when he really wanted to say that sentence in revenge. In fact, I just came back to tell you that I was going to die. But he didn't, he didn't treat them in the aggressive way the family was used to, or he didn't feel in his heart that they would care about his impending death. Until the fatal blow from his brother, he reiterated to him lightly but viciously twice, your first love, your Pierre, passed away last week. At that moment I almost heard a sound of something breaking completely. People are aware when they inflict harm, and the irony is that family members often know your deepest weakness, where your dead end is. The two injuries spread with the interference effect of waves. The gradually accelerating soundtrack and the pendulum on the wall urged him over and over again to force him to a desperate corner, making him unable to breathe, as if his back was numb with pain. Everyone muttered to themselves their puzzles, needs and pains, venting their anger with nowhere to complain, like a baby waiting to be fed.
Black holes come close to each other, distorting all the light and heat. The damage and loss of control are superimposed again and again until the universe explodes.
finally. At the dinner table, as his mother had hoped, he gave all those present the hope of intimacy, and he still felt that he could have a decent end. But as expected, all needs were resisted by the perverted self-defense mechanism, and in this narrow room, they were repeatedly rubbed and smashed endlessly. The gentle understanding that everyone was looking forward to was like that fragile bird that was killed by the stupid and indistinguishable violence.
During the whole process, only Catherine, who was not related to him by blood, realized the reason why he might come back. A drowning man who had been in the center of a storm for a long time asked him weakly tentatively, "How long?"
"There are many motives in life that belong to you alone, not to anyone. Those motives force you to leave, and they force you to come back."
All levels of pain are extremely private feelings, and then evolve into their own "theatre", starting by themselves and ending by themselves.
All forgiveness and reconciliation are also achieved with oneself. Louis smiled and looked at the reality that he couldn't correct. The family members who had been alienated by the pain for a long time finally let go of what he was powerless to change.
Turn around, put on your hat, and say goodbye to the past forever.
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