My left hand is the sky

My left hand is the sky flying desolate, the right hand is overwhelming hope. I chase the speed of the wind, I grasp the pulse of the rain, I gaze at the color of the sky. I let the memory fly, no longer lost. Night is the quiet field of the universe, I see the North Star as always shining, like you are beside me. You said: On the day you were born, there were two butterflies in the room who refused to leave, so you were called "butterfly" when you were born. I am always silent, I am always tired of listening to you tell the story that I already know. Every time I think in my heart: those two butterflies should be your guardian angels! You will always be surrounded by happiness, no matter what time, as long as you turn around you will see that I have been behind you. At that time too believe in eternity I often said: we will not be separated, friendship will be as permanent as the stars. But I don't understand why every time I say this, you just say "um" with a blank face. And I never wondered why you had that look until, until..... We separated, originally you know earlier than me, the melancholy in your eyes is the pain of parting. Let me have hope, hope broken by the wind, scattered on the ground, with the sound of basketball falling, so painful, so painful. The day before we parted, I said: we can not be sad, better. You want me to be okay, too. I said I would. I began to learn a person's loneliness, a person's stubbornness, a person's strong. One day, you tell me that you will not cry, you forget the past. I said, really? You nodded. I guess you really forgot. After all, memory is too beautiful, too painful. This may be a relief to you. Every time we meet, I will say to you, I am fine, I am fine, was so, is so, and will be so in the future. I forgot how I used to cry when you weren't around. I learn to forget, I learn to let go, I learn to put you in my heart. There is no eternal eternal, the memory of the ashes, is painful beauty. I am stubborn no longer wayward tears, the origin of the Ferris wheel will not answer the end. Don't hurt the butterfly. It hurts...Last year, I went to visit a distant relative. The elders of the family are an old couple. Unfortunately, the person I should call "great-aunt" is suffering from Alzheimer's disease, and almost does not know each other, does not know her husband and daughter, let alone me. That day, we are around a table to eat dumplings, her confused strength up, called my aunt called "uncle", called me "aunt", for a while to eat rice, for a while to the following, slightly unsatisfactory, grab a thing to the ground. Seeing that she was not decent, the aunt stiff-faced and said: "No more nonsense, no more nonsense I will ignore you." Strange to say, my aunt immediately obedient like a child, obedient. At this time, the telephone rang, someone urgent to aunt out for a while. Aunt Gong hurriedly left the dishes, before leaving, coax aunt said: "obedient, eat well, I will be back in a moment, otherwise I will never come back." At this time, my aunt quietly pulled my aunt aside, from her sleeve to take out a few of the nearly rotten dumplings, secretly like a child who has done something wrong to our side, and nervously handed it to my aunt, saying: "I know that you like to eat the locust dumplings in front of our house, and these are filled with locust flowers. I secretly hid them here while everyone was not paying attention, so that they might take them. You can eat them on the road." Aunt Gong looked at the delirious aunt, looked at the broken sophora dumplings that could not swallow, and cried for a time. This scene, everyone present saw in the eyes, it is so moving. I saw tears in every eye. A person can not know his family, do not know friends, can also call his husband uncle, can also call a few generations younger than his "aunt ", but it can never erase the vague love in his heart, that seems to have no care. What kind of feelings can transcend time and space and leave such a mark in the blank memory? Since then, every time someone talks to me about the greatness of love or family affection, I will think of this story, which makes me don't know whether it should be called love or has been sublimated into love.