Chapter 8 amnesiac

2003 passed by carelessly, and 2004 showed its pale profile quietly.In a daze, Winter staggered away, but left behind the cold.A year has passed by so quickly, and I know the year to come will pass as quickly, or sooner.I grew up suddenly within a year, for no reason, like a sudden tsunami.Swallowing up the once long sleepy summer days in an instant, coming and going massively but silently interest.Some people live on, and some have left.No one in the world really cares Who lives and dies.When I looked up, I just wondered if there was someone on the cloud to hold a lamp for extradition, Birds fly up and down.

So lovely. I know those migratory birds flying south will come back again, and I can feel the breath of their feathers.Killing the sky and fleeing the earth, I know they are wingless and surly gods.Those wheat fields became barren again after autumn.But close your eyes and know that they will flourish again in the coming year.God said this is called reincarnation.It's just that I don't know when the person who once watched the wheat field will come back.There are always sporadic crows pointing to the question of completion, the clouds open, the sun disperses, the reeds The reed is painted red along the coast.Human memory is a wonderful thing. When we finally have something to remember, we can live humble and dignified.When there is nothing to remember, he dies cowardly.Forget, die.th.Forgive my pessimism, you can do better.

There are some things we forget easily and some we mourn deeply. Some things turn around and walk without looking back, and some things linger around and never leave. There is always a time when you are lonely, there is always a time when the door is opened, there is always a time when you are lonely. There is always a time of happiness, and then lonely again. In 2003 some people came and some people left.Loved some, hated some.Some have given me magnificent thrones.Some people whipped me hard in the back a few times.so what?It's just a cloud of smoke.Those people are always the beasts running by, the black or white passers-by in the hunter's life, or the red or green embellishment.The eagle on the head spreads its blue wings, one flap means seven reincarnations.But always silent.He thought of the dead Haizi for no reason.He said that when there are masters in the field and birds in the sky.When you still have a big bow and a bag full of good arrows.What should be forgotten has long been forgotten, and what should be left will remain forever.When the hunter and the gods stand up or sit up, they sometimes look at each other and sometimes forget each other.I think Haizi must have been lonely at the time.The wind comes through the sky and then flees the ground.

Sometimes I also feel very strange that I am suddenly 20 years old.The adult world has not yet seen clearly.But the world of childhood can no longer be entered.I said that I want to be happy in the days to come, and no one can stand in my way.Get rid of all those hypocritical sorrows, the sun is still shining brightly and I am invincible.But in the dream, there is always a train that doesn't know where it came from, roaring past.the lake buried my single Car my CD my manuscript my backpack. No one is passing by, they are sleeping quietly. I became more and more afraid of crowds and more and more eager to be close to them.I always try to find the old stories from those indifferent faces.Everyone is a river, from emerald green to youth, coming across mightily, and then rolling away silently.Follow the test paper quicksand, dry plan, fossils, scriptures, magnificent temples and blue towns.In the end, it merged into a huge and impeccable memory.It disappeared into the void with a bang, it was all void, it was all chasing after the wind.Sad soul, lonely soul, who is flying the faceless pipa in the desert.A wave of hands, a farewell, breaks through the obscurity of Xitian all the year round.

The city always wakes up every dusk with wind and sand, who remembers and who has seen it.A loose hunter with a bow and a silent swordsman on a horse.No soul cinnabar, some water red sleeves.They are all tides without reincarnation. Who embraces who from behind, who kisses who from under whom, who mourns who on whose cliff, who buries whom in whose shirt. Suddenly, I began to be nostalgic for the prosperous and prosperous city of my hometown. I like the vulgar life here.Rampage in this city with friends every day.Sing on the flyover at midnight.Gazing on the rainy street.I am still the same student who carried a schoolbag and wore dusty denim pants two years ago, and was scolded by the teacher for occasionally having long hair.Take out your wallet to buy Mirinda in a familiar supermarket, and look up at the bus stop sign in an unfamiliar street.exist

While waiting to pick up his classmates at the long-distance bus station, he squatted down boredly and stared at a stray dog.I always think of a sentence my friend said in the winter.He said that it has been ten years since he closed his eyes and opened them again.And I still live so stubbornly. Blast said, I am long dead, but you are still alive. Haizi said, the night along the way can silence me, and no dawn can wake me up.No tear shall make me a flower, no throne shall make me a king. Haizi is the forever shining king in my territory, but I am the forever lonely hunter in the forest.There are always birds that will be printed and dyed in the lava, and they will never sing again.

There are some things I've learned not to fight about.The world is still so dirty after a bloody head.No one can tame anyone, everyone is a surly beast.In my dream, I always pray that there will be a sudden fire in the world.We stand or sit at night.Full of joy, I listened to the running thunder and sang an elegy for the faceless gods all over the sky.The world is big and we are small, and it is raining heavily, and we hide under the eaves for a thousand years suddenly. Who has passed by, who used a sword to mark the legend.Those lost horseshoes are finally stained with dust that cannot be erased by the years.So we cried sadly.

Many nights I always hear something slowly crawling through my heart.Then quietly lurk to some corner of my body, I can't find them.can hear them.Sometimes they sing a requiem in my ears, sometimes a requiem, sometimes a hymn. But they love to sing black songs, and irises begin to grow.There the sea begins to disappear.And everything is so quiet that no one knows.Everyone is blindfolded and enjoying the carnival, only me, only me.Watch the world fall with your eyes open. All of a sudden it feels good, let me sing a hymn too, before it's all gone.