Just in college, the senior islands wrote a gee-whiz element of the lyric poem "my love", love passion flares, in the eyes of youth, love is everywhere, it seems every mountain, every river and every street, every experience, the vast, the distant and unfamiliar people, even in the world of all things, all is worth to fall in love to love. Young love, so boundless, so free. As if inadvertently, a lot of youth past, then stranded in the time gradually old river.
One weekend in early spring, IN March, I went on a business trip to a small town and unexpectedly met Shimako at a small restaurant. He was drinking with two poets, a few simple dishes and a few bottles of cheap beer, which made all three of them glow.
You are welcome. I immediately sat down next to the island, took the wine cup he handed me, said a few greetings, and then drank with old and new friends to celebrate the happy meeting.
Shimako specially for me to order a plate of sauerkraut fried noodles and a plate of garlic sausage, asked me: "taste has not changed?"
I smiled and said, "Thank you! You remember the flavors I liked in college."
Shimako also smiled: "I don't remember most of the great events in the past, only some trivial details."
It's been 30 years since I graduated from college. Many of my lofty sentiments and ambitions have fallen into disarray and gone with the water.
Although sad inevitably, but the heart is still happy, I and Island son there are many details of the "remember". Suddenly, I thought of Du Fu's saying, "Mo si is a man of endless things outside his life, and he has only a limited cup in his lifetime." So I proposed to drink another cup to the yellow willow shoots outside the window and the slanting rain of spring.
Soon, they talked about the daily life of the island in recent years and the quiet work, the joy of her daughter studying for a doctor's degree, the warmth of holding hands with her wife, and the relief of some strange faces in the poetry circle... While chatting, Shimako made a very meaningful feeling: "When I was young, my love was grand, overflowing and not persistent. Now when I am 50 years old, I suddenly find that my love has become smaller and smaller, as if I only love the square inch of the world in front of me now."
"Indeed, after a long journey, I found that the scenery in front of me was most worthy of appreciation." Shimako told me about his recent situation. Last year, he bought three bungalows in the suburbs, planting flowers in front of the house and vegetables in the back. Once in a while, he would go to his neighbor's house and watch a house full of people playing cards and chatting enthusiastically. He would also chat with them like old friends. Fireworks full of flavor of the day, leisurely, tao Tao.
I asked shimako whether he still wrote poems, he did not hesitate: "Write ah, write about the morning glory in front of the door, write about the butterfly dancing around the bean frame, write about the good mood of shopping with his wife......"
"It's all about the moment, not the grand narrative." I teased him, thinking that he had been ambitious and enthusiastic about writing a masterpiece that would last forever.
"Now I have learned to pity the people in front of me. I have fallen in love with the small, natural, real, kind and joyful people, things, scenes and objects within my reach. I can love them enough."
"The more love, the less." "I exclaimed.
The other day, I had a chat with a famous retired entrepreneur. He proudly told me that in the past two years, he had been obsessed with growing flowers and cooking. His huge balcony had turned into a garden, which he tended with great care, just like a gardener full of love. He also delves into recipes with interest and has more than 20 dishes... He lamented that as he grew older, his love became narrower and stronger.
Originally, when young love that vast sky, such as youth a break, love will turn into a narrow corner, to the eyes small trivial, but still can love obsession, love poetic fragrance.
Why do people like meetings? Perhaps too lonely. I felt that I had to get sick from sitting at home every day and not seeing the crowd, so I would go from room to room, pouring out all the opinions I was so upset about, and chattering so as not to be allowed to speak.
I sneaked out the door, got off the elevator without making any noise, and saw big clouds floating freely in the sky. They were not flattering, they were not ingratiating, their souls were independent, free and abundant.
There was the usual dinner after the meeting. Full, dinner switch to separate private chat channel, warm in suddenly show a bit boring. Unable to find a suitable conversation partner, they would sit there in a daze, swiping their mobile phones, or watch a group of people, in a trance, as if this is contrary to the daily life of the excitement, unreal fireworks exploded in the sky, bright and fragile.
On the way back, I accidentally opened the circle of friends to take a look, and found that even though I had not seen them for many years, the people in the circle of friends were still there, drying the books, drying the books, drying the children, bragging bragging, patting the horse patting the horse, flatter flatter, carnival carnival, lonely lonely. In short, the mundane relationship was maintained as affably and politely as if it were a meeting.
A circle of friends is nothing more than a banquet hall where people walk around with a glass of wine and a pair of eyes fixed on the people who are useful to them. But when the party was over, the people were as they had been before, as if a stone had fallen into a lake, and the lake was quiet again with a thud.
My friends always ask me, you have a very cute daughter, why I never see you on wechat moments? I don't like to send circle of friends, lenghuanzizhi, your happiness, only the most close friends will really care about, and like your share. Irrelevant people, but look at the excitement, even if the "like", it may just be out of a habit, boredom or politeness, and even praise will be mixed with jealousy and loss.
Come to think of it, why do people hate moments but can't live without them? I just can't stand being alone. But loneliness is such a beautiful thing that I cherish it so much. Some people invite dinner, often refuse because of illness. I just want to keep this precious solitude for myself, to read, to read, to write, to gossip with my daughter.
Right now, my daughter and I are lying next to each other, touching and intimate. Suddenly, in the dark, she kissed me tenderly. Then she repeated what she told me almost every day: "Mom, I love you." "I love you, too." I kissed her back and said softly. We closed our eyes at the same time. Languid and blissful sleepiness descends upon us like the wings of a great bird.
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