Movies are such a beautiful art.
It is a beautiful dream, a refuge for frustration in reality, a free paradise for fantasists, except that it is not true.
For the first time in a long time, you feel that someone really loves you, meets the beautiful love that has moved countless girls, talks about mutual affection with your soul mate in a musical instrument store, then kisses, and you are brave and determined to get out of an unfortunate marriage: just because you believe that Everything is real.
But when the curtain fell, the background of life was still the dimness of the Great Depression. He was fired by his boss because of his unfavorable hands and feet. He returned home and the giant baby domestic violent boy who was idling outside playing marbles all day is still asking you for dinner. Why hasn't it been done yet?
Life will never be a movie, and you can't use a fade out, understatement, in a moment of pain or happiness.
Life is destined to use its roughness day after day, leaving bloody marks on us.
And we can only drag the trance body and throw it into the shelter again.
People, always have to indulge in something to survive, money, fame, status, love, dreams, literature, music, movies.
When Cecilia woke up desperately from a vain dream, returned to the red velvet seats in the cinema, and watched the next movie fascinatingly.
How can you bear to be harsh or bother her.
That was the only flame that the little girl ignited in the winter night.
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