Life is painful, but it is the thoughts and philosophies that make it rise

--The first time I saw a man on the bus today, he kept looking at me, looking at me several times, and then I didn't dare to stay on that bus. When the car arrived at Longcheng Square, I followed the crowd and ran down, he chased after me and shouted at me, he said, "You dropped your phone." Then he gave it to me, got back in the car, and left.

--Scared, right?

--Shame on you.

--No shame. What's the shame in admitting you're scared?

--But when you are a little bit scared, you dare to admit it; when you are really scared, you don't dare to admit it. Why?

-- Because when fear becomes too big -- and not just fear, either, happiness, sadness, anticipation ...... are all the same, and the first thing they hurt when they become too big is your dignity.

--Mr. Zheng, how do you know everything?

-- Knowing this may not be a good thing. But to be safe, you should come with me every day after school.

--I don't want to. The students will ask questions if they see you. I'm trying to hide from my classmates every day after school so they don't see me waiting for the bus instead of going back to my usual place. If you let them see me following you every day, it would be a shame ......

--I forgot, at your age, you take "losing face" more seriously than anything else.

--I'm not afraid to die, Mr. Zheng.

--Don't talk nonsense to children.

--Really, I'm not that afraid of death. When I was a child, my grandmother told me that when I felt really bad and didn't want to endure anymore, I might close my eyes and sleep like I was sleeping, so I wouldn't have to suffer, and he told me not to worry about them, that we would meet again one day. Later I was cured of my illness, but my grandmother died. But then I wasn't that afraid anymore. But now, I'm afraid that person will find me.

--In fact, I have a hunch that he won't do anything to you, he just said that on impulse ...... but to be safe, it's right to hide you.

--If he kills me in pain, to get back at my dad, I can accept that. But I'm afraid that he'll beat me, that he'll lock me up, that he'll deny me food and water, that he'll rape me, that he'll show how much he hates -- and even if none of that happens, I'm afraid that he'll talk to me before he kills me, -- let's say, tell me how much he loved his dad, but he was buried under the rubble; he told me my dad caused it; he told me he didn't hate me that much either, but he had to; he told me he knew I was innocent, but innocence isn't that important at a time like this ...... Maybe he'll even cry. So what am I supposed to do, I'm afraid I'll be especially embarrassed to tell him myself, well then, it looks like you'll just have to kill me ......

-- how strange things are in your child's head.

At this point, my brother finally laughed. The two of them dialogue in the silent night from the balcony clear, and a steady stream of my ears to come. The night breeze followed unceremoniously - and I realized this when I wanted to sneeze so badly. So I had to grit my teeth and let the sneeze stay tumultuously inside my head - forcing a hot flush from my eyes - and then hurriedly closed the window gently - no way to eavesdrop on them, it was all the fault of the damn sneeze.

The night turned the whole world into a desolate place, so desolate that I felt the sound of hair gently sprinkling on my pillow was kind. Zhaoge only has so much to say when she spends time with her brother. Or rather, her face only comes alive when she speaks to her brother. It seems that usually, that face has up transparent mask was taken off, his vivid features can finally make all kinds of expressions without any obstacles, no longer afraid to use their own eyes, use their eyebrows. From the corners of their mouth to the cheap lines, dealing with the world.

I kind of don't like this, but, forget it, this little kid bears a lot of things in her heart, strange and pathetic, I let her. And after all, she is most familiar with her brother ah. Close your eyes, sleep, also plus the end, tomorrow I also have to go back to school, although I can not let go of this wonderful bed at home.

Just this night, Su Yuanzhi is on the train to Guangzhou, I miss him a little because the journey must be lonelier than usual for her. I slowly curled my body into a tight ball, thinking that this could record up a little warmth, warm imagination, his long windy journey.

I also warmed myself.

During the actual daytime, Zhaoxiao came back from school, very fretful looking at the ceiling, because the language teacher's homework makes her feel heavenly. This language teacher is of course decimal. There are so many assignments that are given to each year's students. For example, the one that Zhaoxiao met, the media sophomore at the hands of a small number of students will encounter. Whitman's poem, "Oh Captain, My Captain" - is not something from the textbook, but to memorize and then write a post-reading essay about it, any way you can.

I remember, back then, none of us thought there was anything good about this corny-looking poem. Everyone was joking and giggling while pranking him, chanting in various dialects with exaggerated expressions, "Oh, Captain, my Captain; our hard voyage is over, this ship has survived all the risks ......"

I can't remember the following, but in any case, I still think that these sentences read corny and don't sound good in English years. But for some reason, sometimes a few lines still burst into my head: "On the deck, lay my captain, he had fallen, was dead, was cold." As far as I can remember, that doesn't seem to be how it's translated in the book, but my youngest uncle told us that that's how it should be translated to sound good.

On the deck, lay my captain.

When Su Yuanzhi kissed me for the first time, my mind flashed this phrase over and over again, my brain was like a jammed pirated CD, where a few words of this phrase just ran back and forth, and then, in a moment, I understood why that was, because that moment of dizziness, coming from the deepest part of my body, had been so deep that it had drilled a wound into my body - -brought the wind of the outside world down with it, which reminded me of the waves and made me feel like I was on a boat. Although I have not been on a ship, I believe that sailing is like that. On the deck.

He turned my body into the deck. Then we became the waves together.

People say that such a moment is when two people melt into one, but I never believed this. My soul was like a panicked moon hanging above, quietly watching these two people. The waves stirred up the moonlight, or rather, the moonlight shone on top of the unsettled waves and inevitably lurched along, and my soul became a shaky lens, unable to see anything except his face, which was near and far.

We did not become one. We just jumped into the sea together.

At that time, I was eighteen years old. He asked me, "Are you afraid?" I nodded gently, feeling so stiff there in my neck. He smiled nervously and said, "If you're afraid, forget it." I said, "Actually, you're scared too, aren't you?" He shook his head vigorously. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and his lips were so close to mine that I could rub them if I spoke. I said, "I'm relieved to know you're scared too, come on."

Come to think of it, that was almost four years ago.

We're a little different now, after all. At least we have been able to be very familiar and at ease with each other entwined. I still decidedly believe in my heart that that was a bad thing. Because I can always hear a strong wind at the happiest and hottest times. It whistled in a very harsh accent in the middle of the gap between the two of us where our skin touched. It was like that ever-unreasonable, yet fragile and innocent gale in our Dragon City spring. It was in the daytime before he got on the train. The holiday was about to end and we went back to the small, very familiar hostel. I forgot to bring my ID card, but the lady at the front desk gave us the room anyway.

"Are the police going to rush in and arrest us?" I asked him with a smile, "Take us away because I don't have an ID."

He looked at me and said in reply, "It's times like this that I think you haven't changed at all, that is to say, not compared to high school."

"Haven't you changed at all?" I wrapped myself tightly in the blanket and gently looked up at his face.

"It's changed a bit, too." He frowned, looking for the right words, "Back then, you laughed when you were happy, cried when you were unhappy, all the happy unhappiness was out there. Now, a lot of your happy unhappiness seems to have run inside, here -" he poked my chest with his finger.

"Maybe," I thought seriously, "it's not that exaggerated. I'm hungry, can we go get a barbecue?"

So he could see that, and that was enough.

That unlucky kid Zhaozhao was knocking on my door, "Sister Nan Yin, I know you're not sleeping."

I had to draw a breath backward, get up and open the door, "You know again."

She smiled brightly, leaped in deftly, and very generously got under my covers, "Because your window was open all the time just now, and the light from that little lamp was coming through." Damn it, I thought I had done a very clever job of bugging in, but I forgot to turn off the light.

She had just finished talking to her brother, and that vivid look was still secretly stored on her face, making her smile look effortless. "Don't squeeze me." The lights went out and the room melted instantly into blackness like a sugar cube. I squeezed back slightly harder in the direction of her shoulder.

"Who's squeezing you? You're standing all that way." Funny, hearing her voice alone in the darkness, it felt like a boy had slept in my bed - if you ignore the soft, gleeful scorn in his tone.

"Suit yourself." I said, "I'm going back to school tomorrow anyway, so we'll see what you do tomorrow night."

"I'm so sorry to see you." -- I thought she didn't even know how to express her feelings to people in a straightforward way.

"I'm still back for the weekend dummy." I continued to approach her hard and gave her a tap on the shoulder.

"Nan Yin-san," she asked me quietly, "at that time, did you also write Mr. Zheng's essay, I'm talking about Mr. Zheng Hong, about the captain?"

"Right. That topic little uncle out for almost twenty years it, but also really made up the executive."

"Do you remember what you wrote at that time?" She gently turned her head sideways, the skin of her cheek rubbing against my arm.

"Forget." I smiled, "Kids, for me, sophomore year was a lifetime ago."

"He said you guys can write whatever you want, that's the trouble." She sighs softly. But this sad tone of hers put me at ease; since she had begun to worry about such things in earnest, it meant that she was getting used to the explosion back home in a diminishing way.