In the beginning, you were sitting on the Warsaw radio station in a suit, recording. Even though you hear the cannon, you sit and continue to play your piano. The neatly combed hair and gray suit look very elegant. You don't even believe it, war is coming. The shards from the cannonball hit your forehead and you bleed. A woman appeared at this time. She is your admirer, she plays the violin. You go out on a date with the woman who plays the violin like someone who's okay, only to be told that Jews are not allowed in cafes and parks. You tell yourself all the dialogue you met with her, and you can see that you like her. But the huge fragments of war will shatter your life. You say goodbye to the woman playing the violin on the street. Say goodbye to the love you haven't started yet. The constant trouble, the constant death, the constant fragmentation of life, are like sharp knives pouring into your heart. But your brother is still like an ignorant adult, irritating you and even scolding you. But you didn't say anything, or you couldn't even say it to anyone. The black coat, the muzzle of the gun, the rain, the cry of the baby, the scream of the woman, all this still fails to break the night, you watch an old man in a wheelchair being thrown from the balcony by the Nazis, you see Those who run, run and run, and fall down. The car ran over their bodies, over their corpses. In the dark, do your always calm hands tremble? Later, you hurried through the blue-black street when you heard the sound of neat footsteps. It was like the footsteps of death. You lie down, like the dead, close to the cold street. You found the woman who played the violin. With her belly held out and her baby in her arms, she introduces you to her husband, her plans. I think it's only when she plays the violin that you remember the old days. When you sit down in front of an empty piano, you play the imaginary sound for us with your flying fingers. At this time, the streets were empty, and the snow covered all life, but it could never cover the ups and downs of gunfire and uninterrupted death. You have seen your compatriots revolt, you have seen German troops killed, and your building destroyed, and those who take up arms cannot escape their sins. I don't know what you think when you stand alone on the empty ruins. In the picture, you are like a small black dot, rising from below and gradually occupying the entire screen. The dark gray sky never collapsed, you know, at that time I wished the sky would collapse like this to cover all the sins. The story finally has some color of hope, God he is still there. That handsome Nazi officer, he didn't There is a last hope. He brings you food, and finally warmth. Later he died in Russia, I don't know if he would remember the Chopin Serenade you played for him when he died. His beautiful split, his warm family, only flashed in our eyes of the audience. Just like history, it has also turned over. You go back to that familiar scene with your hands flying. You shaved off all your beards, combed your hair neatly, and under your handsome face, would you think of the snowflakes flying in the war? Your story is heavy and slow, just as you have always been graceful and slow, not in a hurry. But in this unhurried story, pain, like a very sharp knife, slid across my skin slowly.
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