Story

He is the leading role in Dancing on the stage, playing the joys and sorrows of the whole world, while I am the dust that he has never touched in the rest of the day. Through the window screen curtains, I looked at the charm on the stage. The smile was like a dazzling beads string, and the sound locked the curved moon in my mouth. Watching them sing all the peach blossoms and taste winter snow all the time, I was always put outside the curtain by the invisible barrier. Spring flowers could not dye my cheeks, but they choked my eyes. The brightness of winter can’t touch the dark clouds on my heart, which can only add sorrow. I am the self-shaking cloud in the lake, the lake day and day stirred my mind and made it ripple, but it was only because of the wind’s accident and the ruthlessness of the rain, which was calculated as the blue sky painted color for me, but I will hide when it gets dark. At that time, a sky full of stars would fall into his arms to reflect his tenderness, and I was not even qualified to exist. This is their story. I can only make the viewer guess with emotion, but I can’t get stuck in it. Otherwise, the most painful thing is myself, because the unspeakable mind can only flow in the dream of the night, lingering in the silent sky, no one knows, no one knows. But the heart, why is it more control and more unruly? Every time I want to turn around, when I meet that figure, the clear cry is frozen, and then I look back, after that glance, it was the fall of life and death. The most painful thing in the world is not that you don’t love me, but that I have never walked into your world, and you have never stopped for me. The stage and the stage are separated forever, it turns out that there has never been any intersection in this life. I will say goodbye to you. Sometimes I think it would be better to hide my exhaustion in the smile at the corner of your eyes and accompany you happily for a lifetime. But parting is in front of us, and the silk thread that has been pulled tens of millions of times in my heart will finally be pulled off. Then never see you again. Read your story, burn it, bury it, say goodbye to winter like Swallow, wave your hand, turn around, fly to the warmth of apricot flowers and smoke rain. The distance of flying is the length of my sadness, and an ice cup in the air is the trace of emotion. From then on, the world of green clouds, like waves of green, I will rush to the next story that I don’t know if it belongs to me. Occasionally, looking up at the moon will think of you, and occasionally, you will look back when you meet the back. But this is just the past that can’t be lighter, the unrequited love that can’t be lower, blooming alone in the deep splash of midnight dream, you don’t know.

Zan (prose editor: prose online) Phoenix Mountain Spring Tour

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