In 1999, I entered the first year of high school. I once liked a girl. Then she was with a boy I liked. This year I saw a trailer for the boy not to cry on TV. I don't remember if I heard this song at that time. I only remember seeing a rainy night, the injured "boy" curled up half-naked, short desperate hair, and tears. I started looking for this movie until now. I have lost contact with the girl and the boy I have loved, but I still remember a heart-wrenching summer afternoon when the girl ran, turned her head and smiled at me, showing her cute little tiger teeth. Ren Changfa was flying in the fierce wind. I don’t know if this plot has really happened in reality, but it seems like slow motion, replaying in my mind over and over again, freeze frame, I close my eyes, it seems that I can smell the strong sea breeze and the big sun. smell. It's as warm and old as an old movie.
I have been searching for this movie with this memory, and today, 7 years later, I finally finished watching this movie. With a sharp cracking sound, the "boy" fell to the ground, ending all pursuit and struggle. The girl who loved him hugged his body and fell asleep deeply. I don't know how cold she felt when she woke up in the morning. The singing sounded, and the camera galloped on the highway in the dark night. I silently left a tear in my heart. It's not because of non-homosexuality, these are nonsense. We always fall in love with people we shouldn't love in our lives, it has nothing to do with gender. We will sink and fall into it, so hopeless, but we will still silently insist, and use our own way to pay tribute to this early love. At this time, I think of all the things the "boy" has done to please girls, smiling, frowning, being able, pretending to be chic, silent, and crying. A kind of pleasure with a smile and tears.
Fear of recalling the plot, afraid of the painful expression, how much the "boy" wished he was a real boy, but was rudely revealed the bottom line by others, and his pain was watched by everyone, clearly and brutal. The blood-stained "boy" was crying and muttered in a low voice, "How do you know that they raped me?" It wasn't because he was raped, it wasn't the simple hateful pain. It's the kind of strong humiliation, stubborn self-protection that breaks easily. I know that this movie is adapted from real things, even the names of people are real. I don't know how to describe this feeling of panic in my heart, the secret pain in my chest.
In the end, the girl's hoarse "No!" I knew something was over. The Bluest Eyes in Texas, a warm acoustic guitar. I have been 7 years old. Many memories fly through my mind. Those young and young girls have gone, maybe they are settled, maybe still on the road. In March in Beijing, the wind was still a bit cold. I no longer live in the seaside city at the beginning. The sunshine and breeze flowing in the air have become memories. In my dream, there will be a staircase paved with pink tiles. I have left me and my youth there, and A little bit of sunlight fell on the ground, shaking slightly.
View more about Boys Don't Cry reviews
