Chapter 2 seventeen year old bicycle

I miss you in the past, I miss the seventeen years old when I stayed on the bicycle, I miss the wind that was once stirred up by your smile, mixed with joys and sorrows and the past that never came back, passing through me in a mighty way youth.bright.sad.infinity-- Inscription 1 Reflection in the left hand, age in the right hand.Who would believe this is the title of a book I wanted to come out over a year ago.At that time, I was in the third year of high school, in a simple but almost cruel time, in a posture of looking up and bowing my head, thinking about the inaccessible but very real future, I was thinking that I couldn’t see the whole sun in that summer university.I was thinking that I should make a summary of my time, recall, feel sentimental, and then start my new journey with a smile.

2 Someone asked me, why I can see your sad and clear words in the second year of high school, I can see your gorgeous and plain language in the freshman year, but I can't see what you wrote in the third year of high school, I want to see you , What kind of mood is it at a section of the intersection that everyone must pass through. In fact, I wrote the words in this book very early. When I wrote these words, I felt more hopeless than ever.Some people may say that my sadness is clear, with tension that makes people want to look up, and hope that makes people not want to give up.I think maybe they haven't seen the words I wrote in the third year of high school, so desperate, so broken.With a hurt expression, I slashed and evaded all the way like a stubborn animal.

Hiding at a certain time, missing the palm prints for a while. Hiding in a certain place, I miss someone who stands on the way from where I came from, and who also stands on the way to go, who makes me care about. 3 I always think, I like to write prose, so I like it so much.In fact, I like to stand on a cliff, and then look at the pictures of extravagant and bright youth crawling under my feet, with tears streaming down my face. I don't know if I'm a good recorder, but more than anyone, I like to look back at the way I came.I took the trouble to look back and stop.Then time left me and ran forward vigorously.

I've been writing fiction lately, both published and unpublished.I have been making up the fate of others, hiding in their ups and downs, weaving their stories and crying my own tears.Those vivid people always appear in my mind, day by day, night by night, they look at me smiling, sad, and finally watch me raise my hand to kill them. 4 When I was reading a magazine that day, I saw a student who said that she had finally changed from a freshman to a sophomore. She said that after the start of school, she would fight for seats in the cafeteria with her new classmates and watch them walk in the school full of freshness. Here, watching them carve their childish names on the school tree, watching them, feeling sad about their old age.

When I saw this sentence, I was suddenly torn in pain.I suddenly missed my middle school, which is thousands of kilometers away, like never before.Few people know it. It is not as famous as Huanggang Middle School of Beijing No. 4 Middle School. Even the reference books we made in the third year of high school will have their names. My school is very simple. I have laughed and made troubles in it. I have shed tears.Been there and left. I left my thin youth there, leaving the days when I was seventeen years old and whistling on a bicycle. Break, break, break. I heard the sound of time breaking, in my body, and also in my hometown thousands of kilometers away.

5 The essays in this book.I wrote it when I was in the third year of high school. At that time, I was living at the house of my teacher, a teacher who taught bel canto, and Zhuo Liang lived with me.It's just that he sleeps there at noon and he wants to go home at night.Every morning when I was still sleeping, I could hear the sound of him opening the door, then he put the schoolbag, and then he beat me up while I was still sleeping. At that time, I didn't move the computer to the room where I lived, so I just scribbled on the paper when I wrote.My teacher’s house has a very small patio. When it’s windy, I like to move a stool into the patio, and write on white A4 paper.That was the only time in my writing life when I wrote by hand.So I also know that there is a thing called manuscript.Because computer writing has always occupied the vast majority of my life.

A time of lost manuscripts. And I am a happy and simple primitive. 6 In this book, you can see a lot of people, many, many people, they appear in my life, they bring the youth that can be shared, and take away my endless concerns. A lot of people I don't know where they are scattered now.If there are such birds as I imagined, I want them to tell my friends that I miss them when they see them. It is my favorite and most distressed text in this book. I write about rock and roll, travel, and these things that have long since disappeared from my life.When I looked at these words again, my sadness was like a deep lake, in which my CDs, my scenery, and my 17-year-old bicycle sank.No one passed by.They have been sleeping peacefully.

These words are the days of my third year in high school, a long series of continuous days. 7 That day, I suddenly remembered to watch "Seventeen-year-old Bicycle", so I got up and watched it again.Seeing the mood hanging in the air, unable to settle down. Suddenly, I remembered the theme song "Looking Away" (Carry Love to the End).Xiao Ke's voice is hoarse but emotional. When I saw you passing by the door, I felt a little sad, so I sang softly. When you carefully sit down beside me, tell me how wonderful life is. Where you and I are in love, there are still people coming and going, and there is still love wandering.Where you and I are in love, there are still people singing, and the sentimentality of youth and ignorance is still there.

Those vivid faces appeared in dreams countless times. I don't know why I have such feelings for this commercial soap opera.Maybe I saw my youth, he was riding on a bicycle, wobbly, smiling at me.Tears of laughter fell down like diamonds. 8 A few sentences I have written.I like them: number one, I will wait for you. Second, hold my hand and walk with your eyes closed so you won't get lost. Third, in a daze, in an instant, we are getting old like this. Guo Jingming in Shanghai April 2003