In fact, it is difficult to define love. I always think that loving someone means being willing to stay with him. Even in the most dull and boring days, you can still rely on the indelible sense of need in your body. Consume most of the dull and boring time unconsciously. But perhaps nothing can be separated from the rapids, and can not be settled in a kind of homeopathic flow. A woman who is well-dressed and decent is not passionate, only when she is wearing the softest and fitting clothes, without heavy make-up, smoking and drinking, putting down her long hair, and swinging with the music. The instinct hidden in the body. There will be such a person in this world that you can't resist, can't hold your gaze, and want to get closer, then a little bit, let the water that has just left his body flow on yourself again. Francesca lay in the bathtub and thought, this is what he brought to her, a touch she has never had before.
A woman who is trapped in the countryside is happy if she has a heart of peace and ignorance. But it would be unfortunate if it was accompanied by an endless fresh fantasy of life and a desire for passion for life. Because of that, she can be considered decent because of her vulgar behavior and strong body. What she wants to abandon is not only the elegance, but also the illusion that she can watch with a smile against the candlelight. I remember seeing the peerless prostitutes, when the mother pushed her daughter to the library, the girl said, I shouldn’t have come here. The mother said that ladies shouldn't come here, but prostitutes are all women who are full of poetry and books. At that time, I couldn't understand it at all, I just felt that it was a deep-rooted contempt for women, or rather, a kind of irony. But now it seems that the so-called way of survival is not without its reason. Sometimes I think about why life always designs one after another difficult dilemma, and people struggle to choose between them. Perhaps words with relative meanings cannot coexist after all. Everyone faces the same problem. Which one do you choose?
At night, Francesca was sitting in a rocking chair on the porch reading Yeats's collection of poems. She stood up as if hearing a sound. Xixi's wind blew over, she unbuttoned her nightgown and faced the endless night, letting the wind invade her naked body. The flimsy cotton cloth swelled and surged behind her. She seemed to fly. At that time, she might have known that she would face a farewell in the heavy rain in the future, the endless years left, and the final decision to sleep on the bridge. But there will always be a moment when everything seems to be thrown away, just need, the comfort of the evening breeze.
The person in the rain made me cry beyond control.
for a moment, I didn't know where I was, and for a slip second the thought cross my mind that he really didn't want me, and it was easy to walk away.
I was wrong to stay but I can't go. Let me tell you again why I can't go.
Tell me again why I should go.
This kind of certainty comes but only once in a lifetime.
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