- Some people in life tell stories, so he becomes Guo Degang; some people write stories, so he becomes Zheng Yuanjie, and some people make stories, so he becomes Kato Hisoka; There are so many people with stories, and that is us.
Looking at the worried old man, the building block hut was built brick by brick, and his wife, relatives, and friends and neighbors all left one after another. He was the only one who still lived a peaceful life, drinking some small wine and smoking with an old pipe in his mouth." Hey.. huh-", with a puff of smoke, the days are lost in the yellowed lights, yellowed walls, yellowed photo frames, and yellowed faces. Alone with fish balls, he fell asleep to the sound of cheers in the TV box.
Waking up, taking a nap, scratching, grabbing a pipe, feet completely immersed in the sea, bricks added, java, no words, the music just paused and blared again, no instruments The thunderous concerto is just a nice piano, neither fast nor slow, just like living a life. It rains, the wind doesn't care, smokes alone, builds.
After the house was repaired, I started to pick up some old things in a small boat, and laboriously carried them, but the pipe fell down layer by layer along the skylight of the building block house. The decoration of the new home is still the same, habitually sitting by the wall, looking at the hanging picture frame, rubbing the pipe in his hand but not putting it down.
diving. Dressed neatly, he was alone in the bluish sea water, in a bluish mood, accompanied by a lone fish, falling a little bit, and his memory emerged little by little in the yellowing. Scenes of warm lights hit his body and shine in his heart. His wife, who had just recovered from the illness, stumbled and carefully bent down a little to help him pick up his pipe; the whole family happily sat around the sofa to take family portraits...
Once upon a time, the joyful gatherings
of childhood and
the prosperity of the past
...
a wine glass , a string of bubbles, pulls the light-colored memory back to the warm-toned reality, the only star light in the dark night. The table has been set up, an extra goblet has been added, the wine has been refilled, and there is a meal. There is no memory of the high-sounding scene, and one person quietly thinks about something to say. Hump back, lean forward slightly, pick up the wine glass, shake it, and touch it.
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