Fragments of memories and desolate ruins are piled up in the depths of the water, the throbbing of her bowing her head pierced his heart, the sun gilded the silhouette of her toddler with her daughter, but his eyelashes were in the shadow of time. Frozen into ice.
Walking through the dusty time aisle, rubbing my wet eyes, I saw the old tree again between my fingers. His ding dong smile should match her slightly drunk eyes, the sunset is transparent and tender. There is also the hut stacked with hands, where nostalgia and sweetness quietly flow into secrets from the longing eyes and the crispness of clinking glasses.
Who knows, after all, there is still no time to fight.
Once it lasts, it is the end of a lifetime.
I have always thought that if one day I really meet someone who can hold hands but can't cross the Nai River, whoever leaves this world first will be a crueler thing.
Look at each other's wrinkles for decades, listen to each other's wordy for decades, quarrel for decades, and walk through the scenery of decades of years hand in hand. And then, leave him behind, or stay alone and accept things like [on your left hand, your right hand is no longer there].
I love someone, so I hope he can live for a long time. Love a person, so it is yourself who would rather be cruelly left behind. Many contradictions, the reason is just a word of love. After all, who becomes the coveted person and sticks to all the traces she left behind.
So he persevered day in and day out.
Fishing alone, eating a dry dinner alone, watching comedy with a deadpan expression. Reinforcing the place where he and her shared the first brick in the long water like building blocks. The building blocks rose with the surface of the water, and the only thing that could not be left behind were those old photo frames, as if they were the building blocks of memories, which could be dissipated in time with a single touch.
The most emotional is when he raised a glass by himself at the bottom of the silent water and looked at her across the world.
The most beautiful thing is that he picked up the old wine glass, tasted the wine, and shared the crispness with her.
off topic.
I finally watched this film under the pressure of my French classmates. It was probably because he had passed it on too magically, and the OST was so good. I opened the short film with overly excited mood, but I couldn’t shed any tears. Out. After all, you shouldn't put a thing too high in your imagination, your expectations are ridiculously high, and you're only a few steps away from disappointment. The pseudo-petty bourgeoisie has been around for a long time, and naturally I have gained a lot of immunity to these tunes full of memories or warmth,
but who has not had such warm or hurt moments, and who has not had any splits or splits? One-third of an acre. So again the wrong number was seated. Looped this rmvb over and over again in the same gentle afternoon as in the film.
Gentle melody, textured pictures, and a story that is not difficult to resonate. The world is also easily busted. It gave me an excuse to miss you occasionally this afternoon, and maybe it wasn't a bad thing.
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