Chapter 30 rainy day book

⒈ I don't know why it rained for no reason.The thin water mist separated the mountains and trees further away, leaving only a vast emptiness outside my window. I think it must be very cold there, right?Another Fang.Water droplets are rolling on the blue roof, and the sound of dripping is monotonous and dull. Don’t you think it’s absurd? Your letter is still on my dressing table, folded squarely, still the hand marks of that day.I haven't seen you before; I won't be able to find you again. All I have is this vague trace.Another Fang, and you?You don't have a word from me, and when I pick up the pen, no one can pass it on for me.

In winter, Nan Xin came with your letter.Thin slanted handwriting, elegant and gentle words.I am very glad to read your letter, which I have kept with some other letters.They always give me encouragement and confidence and let me know that when I write under the lamp, I am not actually alone. Another Fang, I didn't reply to your letter immediately, because the National People's Congress has many things to do.What's the use of regretting?If I had known that you were writing that letter on the sickbed, I would have talked to you, went out for a walk with you, and watched the sunset together at dusk.But how can I imagine it?Seventeen years old, how can it be associated with death?Death, such a cold and gloomy word, should never have anything to do with you anyway.The play ended too early, and the late spectators had no choice but to look at the closed black velvet curtain in dismay.

The rain is still falling, knocking on my glass windows frequently.The rain makes the world dark and gloomy, and I can't help but imagine that you are holding an outer umbrella.Walking from the grassy path, through life, through death, through eternity. At that time, it was winter vacation.Another Fang, I have always been thinking about you in my heart.It's just that Nan Xin couldn't be found, and there was no one to send the message.When school started, I found Nan Xin, and when she asked about you, she cried.Another Fang, I have never hated myself so much.Another Fang, which street should I send the letter to you now?Does anyone know your new address?

Nan Xin sent you the last note you left for her, holding it made me tremble.Another Fang, what am I?Like you, I am a guest sent to visit the world.I am amazed and joyful looking at the green mountains and green waters, looking at life and knowledge.Another Fang, what is special about me?It's just that when I read these things, I had more impulse than others, so I couldn't help but record them. What on earth do I have to get acquainted with?None of those insanely beautiful things were created by me, and none of them were managed by me, and the only records I have are also broken and almost completely out of shape. Fang, smart you, why? Do you want to get my letter?

"She had no regrets when she died," Nan Xin said, "except for missing your letter. Can you write a letter to her?...——I believe in Jesus, and I think Jesus will definitely give it to her .” She is so innocent, I am writing to you, I have been thinking of writing, I give her my letter, but I think you don't need it anymore.What are you doing right now?Are you playing with the fluttering little angel?Or pinch a portrait with soft white clouds? (Have you ever molded mine?) Otherwise, it must be listening to the soft plucking of the golden harp in the lush forest garden. Another Fang, in my imagination, you are a delicate and sad shadow, with delicate light yellow skin, thick eyebrows, deep eyes, and thin lips (but not talkative), right?I often wear light blue dresses, and I like to look at the rain outside the curtain and be fascinated, don't you?Another Fang, maybe we really shouldn't meet, so that the you I imagined are more real.

Another Fang, the rain is still falling, and a touch of sadness is scattered in the rain.The grass on the cemetery should have been green, but you didn't see it this spring.Imagine a small white flower blooming on your grave, transparent and pale, sobbing faintly in the rain. And in the sky, in that splendid spiritual realm, is it also raining sunshine, falling flowers, and music?Another Fang, please bow your face and look at us and the place where you grew up.Maybe you will find it funny and turn your head away immediately.You will be surprised and say to yourself: "In those years, why was I so stupid? Actually, don't those things look funny?"

Fang, look, I have written so many letters, yes, it is actually very funny to write these letters, you will not need these in eternity.But I will write anyway, I promised to write. Or, tomorrow morning, the cherub will place a small white flower in front of your window, with countless silver raindrops rolling on it. "what is this?" "This is what we found on the ground. There is a person who wrote you a letter. We don't want to bring in such poor writing, so we have to turn it into a little white flower-you read it, she wrote it. It's all in there." The tiny, rustic little white flowers are trembling in your hands.Another Fang, what did you think at that time?It said everything, but at the same time, it didn't say anything, that piece of white fluttered wildly, vaguely shaking the color you once loved in life.

At that time, I would like to see your smile, vague and shallow, reflected in the water drops of the flowers - that is something I have never seen and imagined. ⒉ There was a gurgling sound outside the delicate Xiang curtain, and the rain and the curtain were intertwined vertically, thus weaving such a hazy, bleak and melancholy afternoon. On the mountain path, two children with schoolbags were running, jumping, and chasing each other.They don't look like pedestrians in the rain, but they seem to be celebrating the Songkran Festival.After a while, they disappeared behind the bushes, and the wet green field and the low sky appeared again in front of me.

Holding the pen in hand, the paper is full of human heads. Wang, who studied psychology last time, said that most of the paintings people draw are their own portrayals.And my portraits are all pensive, with a pitiful smile on the corner of the mouth.So, are these all me?Could it be that I am the one who is wearing a floor-length skirt, holding a Shanxiang folding fan in his right hand, and a small flowered parasol in his left hand?Hey, am I like that? A piece of letter paper spread out on the glass, white and thin.There are too many credit debts, who will pay them first today?The evening rain falls so sadly, and the tens of thousands of soft fingers are caressing a bundle of invisible strings, gently picking and slowly twisting, and what they touch is always desolate and sorrowful.

So, who should I send today's letter to?Who wants to see a gray misty rain?However, there is no Wanli Qinglan in front of my eyes, so how do I write this letter? So, send it to yourself, the lost self.Send it to the girl who listened to her uncle talk about Cinderella, and send it to the middle school student who read "Xinfeng Broken Arm Old Man" with his father.Send it to the dream weaver who sits quietly by the water, and send it to the one who rests his head in front of the window and meditates. But where is she?Just like the two children who were playing on the mountain path just now, suddenly, they couldn't be traced.And what about the "I"?Where did he hide behind a bush?

Listen, the rain falls so gently, isn't this the rain you were looking forward to?Remember that time when you stood in the backyard and looked up and let the rain fall on your open mouth, it was so funny.You also like to get up early in the morning and go to the little leaves to look for raindrops.Carefully placed on the chemistry pad used to write arithmetic, I was as happy as if I got a plate full of jewels.You're a very rich kid, really. When did you walk into the middle school campus again, under the ancient trees covering the sky, listening to the rumble of thunder and watching squirrels jumping wildly among the branches, you suddenly became happy.Your joy has a primitive simplicity and enthusiasm, which makes you want to dance.But when the sky suddenly darkened and the storm came, you suddenly fell silent, with a kind of reverent awe.You love the rain, you always have. That summer, the flower tree behind the classroom was particularly beautiful, and you and Zhi both discovered it at the same time.Those twigs were weighed down by clusters of yellow flowers, hanging down to the window of the small building.Whenever it rains, those strings of flowers become transparent, so beautiful that people dare not breathe. When get out of class was over that day, you and Zhi stood in front of the window.The flowers are in the rain, the rain is in the flowers, and you are overwhelmed by those sounds and colors.But gradually, those sounds and colors also quietly recede, and you are lost in the dreams of the early years of life.When I came back suddenly, the classroom was empty, and I remembered that music class, and all the students left.It was very lucky that the teacher scolded you that day - but he shouldn't have scolded you in the first place, you were listening to the suite of Xia Ri Hua Yu! Gradually you will be sad.At night, you couldn't help but listen to the slight sound of raindrops from bamboo leaves; in early autumn, you reluctantly recited "Leave the residual lotus to listen to the sound of rain", and you vaguely pieced together some sorrow for yourself.What are you worried about?You can't answer -- you still can't answer.You can't keep yourself from liking those bleak scenes, and you can't protect yourself from that melancholy.In fact, you don't have to be so sentimental. You see, other people are busy with their own affairs, but you have to worry about irrelevant worries. As I get older, I will encounter some human affairs, but I rarely see you calm down, and always look at those people with contempt when their blood decays to the point where they have to be calm. For you, love is fiery, hate It is dead ice, sympathy is deep, and sorrow is layered.But, who knows?People always say that you are gentle and quiet, only when you are gentle, they will never understand, the reason why you love the sun is because you admire the light; the reason you love the rain is because you yearn for the dripping water.But, who knows? When you read the phrase in the Analects of Confucius, "knowing it can't be done", suddenly the blood rushes like a tide, and you can't sit still for a few days.You have never been through such a storm - in your mind and heart.You seem to have seen the ups and downs of that saint's life, so you have a premonition of a part of your own destiny.But you can't help but feel gratified at the same time, because for a long time, an idea you wanted to express appeared in a classic two thousand years ago.Until now, when you think of this sentence, you are always so excited that you can't help yourself.You are ridiculously stupid, you. Looking out of the window, the rain can no longer be seen clearly, and the dusk has passed.It's just that the clear sound continues, like an extended notation on a musical score.Well, tonight is another miserable rainy night.where are you?Would you like to come to sleep tonight?Take me to some old place to go for a walk!Is the ancient city wall of Nanjing slippery with moss?Has Liuzhou's majestic mountains and rivers also peeled off? When is the next time you write a letter?I have no idea.When one day I am old, I may write a long letter to you!I don't want you to receive a letter of condemnation, how I wish I could write a letter of thanks and praise!But, did you deserve it back then? The sound of the rain ticking, sparse and beautiful.In a casual glance, I suddenly found that the light in the small room is so gentle; at the same time, in a casual look back, your childish brilliance is also flickering in a distant place.and I?Where is my light?Really, where is my light?After many years, when this lamp on my desk is burnt out, will there be any other light in the world?Oh, my friend, I don't know that much, I only wish you and I were still shining, in every dark and cold rainy night.