Letting go of the plucked star

After sending you away, the house was temporarily quiet, and I walked towards the study, cursing myself with every step I took, cursing myself for my excessive loneliness and excessive expectation of your response when we were together, for my excessive desire for praise and excessive waiting for love.

It was so obvious that I cursed myself, this little voice of cold scrutiny in my heart, relentlessly reviewing all the ills of our past coexistence. It turns out that when we meet again after a long time, I can pour out so many rivers of garbage, like a lonely patient who has lived abroad for years and has not seen his family, dragging you around and talking about crap that you will forget after hearing it.

I miss you so much that every sentence of the narrative is hidden in patience, and every false response to the polite are faded and dissipated, until fading into smoke without aftertaste, wine without bubbles.

You are in love again, sparks rolling down the back of your hand, "Oh." The old love that shouldn't be there is not yet and the ashes of the cigarette are held down together in the glass of wine. So we talk about the future, talk about the ideal, talk about the bluff network, flowery words, pseudo-deceive each other they have everything, using other people's experience to decorate their own experience, with the true and false fictional vanity in exchange for talking about.

I want to talk to you is not these, across an arm's length distance into the sofa to scrutinize you, wine slightly drunk in seem far and near, the sky stars and cups of shadow. You are not that good, you are worldly and beautiful, have come out of the pain of the deceased relatives, no longer looking for me to cry about wounds already, has blown me a pool of spring water once.

You are also the same as before, drunk themselves without weakness, leaning on the back of the hazy smile, to their own escaped charm know, you really hate, everything is informed, everything can also be used to trade, turning the hand for the clouds and the hand for the rain, what count you can not hold? You raise your glass to beg forgiveness: "So smart, ah, again by you said."

And how long will you stay this time? I said no. You have to leave, the sun evaporates the water of last night, before I wake up, what is the point of saying yes?

But I believe that there are feelings between people, there are feelings, there are many things that can not be explained clearly, but also believe that love is not just a few words, say love and say forever will last. Just like Grandma and Grandpa, one chattered non-stop every day, and one didn't say a few words a day, but the two stayed together for more than 60 years, relying on the heart feeling. The modern love seems to be nothing else but the mouth and ears. Then I would rather return to the basics to do back to an old-fashioned

There are diaries from the past in the cupboard of the room where you sleep.

But you will certainly not read it, you are so arrogant, never learn to care about me, even if I spread the secret under your nose, you will not smell a word more.

This is a good thing, ordinary friends can be long and perfunctory, do not need to listen to your breakdown, gather your tears gathered into pearls. I once thought you were a star, but it turns out that it does not count, low cup of water dangling in your hand, shining a light on the weary and dirty earth. So many shortcomings, so many back to the blind, you and I can not be exempt from each other fell into prejudice.

The next time you come to me, I might write these words on the back of your slippery shoulder.

You are a nightmare for me.