Spring has passed

It's the fourth spring since you left.

I was home alone.

With the lights off, darkness and loneliness pounced on me and swallowed me up instantly. Tears quickly slid down my face, and the house was so quiet that I could hear the sound of tears sliding down my face.

I sat on a small bench in the kitchen, with only the dark red cigarette brightly lit, and the bright windows of people's homes outside.

The shrill clamor of other people's children came from the yard. The baby had gone to his third sister's house, who missed him and wanted to spend the night with him.

I know the small woods in the yard, the flowers that should bloom are blooming, and the ones that should fall, are falling. When I came home, I already saw that spring had been deeply submerged by the years.

And those flowers, those young leaves, those spring, I only cast a shallow glance. They may have seen me, every day without a sound lifeless head down to walk by. Sometimes Baby is around, a high and a low figure. The baby is sometimes happy, and I show a smile and joke. However, they must have noticed that the baby just did not look at me, I oiled the kind of tiredness and sadness revealed.

I was just passing through the spring, passing through a cloud of shadows of the years, often topped with messy flowery white hair.

Sometimes, a baby holding a small flower, a few leaves, a few small types of grass, he will often rush over, come to the front, smell those flowers, he is loving beauty, he is naive, originally, he should also be happy, is happy.

However, those flowers, those grasses, and those leaves have long since wilted and been thrown into the trash by me. Last weekend, he picked a few small apricots, which must have also wilted, without a trace of glory.

The bowls that I ate a few days ago, are still messy on the stovetop, silently looking down and weeping at me, since you left, they are the same as me, they are losing their luster, losing their souls.

Those spring flowers, those magnolia flowers, those apricot flowers, those peach flowers, those plum blossoms, and the large canola flowers in the fields, I know them all, and I used to like them as much as you liked them, but now, I only see a forest of flowers, a flowering tree, but I can no longer see their poise, their delicate, can not see their delicate, nor can I smell their fragrance, that The faint fragrance of the flowers is refreshing, and the memories are so sweet.

This spring, I only remember that it is hot and cold. Three months ago, there were days when it was warmer than now. I remember some rain that fell untimely, completely autumnal in flavor. I remember some cold, accompanied by layers of thick clouds, with chilling spring snow on top of Jade Mountain far away. I remember twice drinking with my closest friends, drinking unconscious, being held by friends, and crying in the street. I remember some drinking games, I silently ate the food and drank the wine, a lone spectator in the lively earthly world, a lonely soul.

Of course, I can't forget to take my baby to the mountains in spring, and my baby sometimes jumped, sometimes and his age does not match his understanding and strong.

The sky and the earth, two figures, one high and one low, make me courageous, remind me, and tell me that there is beauty and hope in spring.

Tonight he is not at home. I turned on the lamp, and the shadows fell on the wall, dappled, without human form.

I've heard that when you're alone, the shadow is one's soul.