Chapter 127 The moonlight in the closet

I seldom buy clothes. However, as time goes by, the big wardrobe is still full; the closet is full, and the daily wear is only folded and piled up by the bed; anyway, it is the age when it is time to focus on "inner beauty", whether the outer beauty is beautiful or not , too lazy to pay attention. Dressing refers to what is in front of you and what to wear; you know that there are clothes in the closet that don’t fit and you won’t wear them, but you never want to, and you don’t dare to tidy them up; there are endless sundries and limited space, tidying up means giving up; However, can you really give up?

This tie, which once tightened the young stiff neck, fluttered on an unforgettable occasion; this scarf, strangely shaped, was the first knitting experiment of a very old lover; this handkerchief, the girl who failed for herself, I wiped my tears; this sweater caused another girl to waste money and food. Back then, I sent this flexible affection from afar; why is there only a top for this sportswear?Alas, I remembered, I bought the pants one size too big, and she changed them, and after I went, I didn't look back... The so-called wardrobe is basically an emotional diary with wood as the cover and cloth as writing paper; the soft album pages are still warm to the touch.The remaining temperature is still there, how come ten years suddenly?Twenty years in the blink of an eye?The old wardrobe is really hard to find!

Clothes, re-folded and put back; such a memory is guarded by the bed, and when I wake up in the quiet night, I can still see the moonlight at that time in a trance.But the closet is full, after all, there is an advantage, so you don't have to worry about the girl getting married, and suddenly jump out to scare people, complaining: "You came back too late, the cooked food is cold." In a few years, perhaps, it is time to find a moral priest to read the scriptures, hold a solemn funeral for the wardrobe, and after presenting the last bouquet of white roses, watch these pieces of wood full of love and hate slide into the incinerator.

Of course, it may be that the wardrobe is woodenly sent to me, the water is far away, the memory is given to others, and people give memories, it is always the same.