film has turned yellow, like Venice with mottled walls In the alley, Mahler's Fifth Symphony laps the ancient city like waves. As the day draws to a close, the afterglow extends from the sea to the pier. An old movie from 40 years ago, today it seems that such a young man is still amazing, pure beauty, and the statues in the ancient Greek city are vividly playing on the beach. The composer just pretended to enjoy the cool sea breeze with a newspaper in hand, admiring his "Riviera lover" all the time. I don't know why I think of Lolita, Humbert, and the beach, maybe they all love young children, all fascinated and ecstatic. However, Asenbach just looked away, there was no gorgeous BL storyline, and he didn't even say a word to the teenager. It was accidental or fate, he never thought that he would encounter the amazement of a lifetime here. He was overwhelmed by that kind of beauty, debating beauty and morality, art and soul in his heart for thousands of times, but he couldn't take his eyes away, and he couldn't let go if he wanted to escape.
That beautiful young man didn't have to do anything, just glanced back at every corner, and the infinite charm penetrated into his body and mind. Zhang Ailing said that loving someone will "become very low, low into the dust, but the heart is joyful, and flowers bloom from the dust." He dyed his hair black and white for him, shaved his beard cleanly, painted lipstick, dressed neatly, and followed far away in the dilapidated and desolate streets, he muttered to himself: "You must not laugh like that, you must not laugh like that to anyone. I love you." That young man is a narcissist, a queen of indifference, a vase and a seducer, whatever it is, it doesn't matter anymore, to love his beauty, there is no need to demand other qualities. The teenager looks back intentionally or unintentionally, puts on a charming pose, and a little smile can make him give up his life. When the plague struck, Asenbach still stayed here, waiting, standing, looking, struggling, until death, such a humble love was moved by sadness.
Don't care whether Venice's architecture is Gothic or Rococo style, don't want to count how many bridges cross the water, and don't listen to the song of the boatman on the gondola, Venice is still amazing. Decades have passed, and the youth of that day has been worn beyond recognition by time. Perhaps when I was watching a movie, I had already begun to reminisce. The memory after the wave was shaken was actually easier to get drunk.
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