Master Yu
in French, stories that happened a long time ago are expressed in Il ya long temps. Taken apart, Il ya is possession, and long temps are distant times. Just like the too much complicated time and too many trivial matters that we have had, they are all accumulated, accumulated and migrated little by little, from the thickness of a cicada’s wings to the slowly arching sand dunes of deserted castles, they are buried in the past and also pay homage to them. forever. And a long, long time ago, we wore white shirts, backpacks, and we rode bicycles through the city that belonged to a long time ago, just like leaves dancing in the wind soaring over the long streets and alleys, the shady embankments - those are also It's all shining days. But in the end there are still our troubles: the endless exams, the ignorant feelings of teenagers, and the melancholy of those erratic youth. All these melancholy belonged to us at that time, hidden in the unread Song Poetry on the title page of the diary, covered in the guitar playing and singing heard on a certain radio, and the moonlight of the autumn season and white dew, time and time again Over the years of youth, in every momentary picture, any words can be used to describe and modify.
The legend that Yuezhen believed. If you keep writing the name of a loved one with a ballpoint pen, when the ink dries, he will fall in love with himself. So even if the confession was rejected, she kept writing, Zhang Shihao, Zhang Shihao, Zhang Shihao... It seemed that she wanted to consume all the calories of her 17-year-old love on those manuscript papers soaked in tears, but at the last moment, she put the name of Kimura Takuya. spread over the pen.
Xiaoshi said to Kerou: If one day, maybe a year later, maybe three years, if you start to like boys, you must be the first to tell me. When they parted, at the noisy intersection, the green light was flashing. Zhang Shihao rode his bicycle lightly and rushed out of the traffic, just like the young water splashing boy splashing water in the swimming pool.
Kerou said: What kind of adults will we become in three years, five years, or even longer? Is it a physical education teacher? Or my mom?
Yes, this is just a long memorial book, a silent film without narration. And those recorded should be the past - the party that has ended, the scene that can't be replicated again. All the youthful melancholy, thinking about it now, has long since been replaced by more precise, specific and heavy nouns like life, work, and love. This may also determine our nostalgia for the passing of youth, and even the condolences that have begun before the end. But eventually we will understand that some things must be seen with our own eyes before we can appreciate them, just as we have to travel through the desert to understand the concept of vastness. It was only after passing by the sea that I understood how those flying white birds passed over the tsunami. There are also those that take time to believe. For example, those photos in books turned out to be yellowed; those dark blue and dark blue jeans turned out to be washed white; and those troubles that we once thought were troubled by dire straits turned out to be in the end. When we truly face life independently, we find that compared with reality, it is really vulnerable. It really seems like a new word to express sorrow...
This is what I like about the movie called "The Blue Door" The only reason: the playground, the setting sun, the horizontal bar, textbooks—these long-suffering melancholy will only be engraved on the tall poplar tree outside the campus during the season of white shirts, and will be banished into the classroom. Above the clouds outside the window, I was repeatedly erased and re-written in the half eraser and ballpoint pen I borrowed.
"I'm on this barren hill / Missing my empty room / Dusty". At this moment, a poem by Haizi slowly came to my mind.
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