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she said

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    When it comes to her, I will calm down, maybe smoke a cigarette, and fall into the memories that will never be restored, and it is difficult to get away.  Today I came to Lili Marlene Coffee again, and ordered the mandheling that I drank the most this year, without milk and sugar, and I have had a relationship with Lily Marlene for two years. See the clerk I have seen a lot  Come to know my taste.  Even the seat, I have never changed, it has always been the biggest table in the venue near the window at the stairway on the second floor of the duplex building.  I remember when I first came here, the clerk would politely tell me that I was sitting at the largest table. If there are more people at the same table, can I make room for others? Of course I answered yes.  However, after sitting for two years, I haven't given up to others once.  Now the cute clerk doesn't ask me this question anymore, maybe in a sense, he gave me some special treatment.

    I remember that three years ago in Wuhan, in Baoge¡¯s Minglang Cafe, my favorite drink was the pure and sweet Yirgacheffe, and now the old, bitter and mellow Mandheling, the growth of a person will be clearly evident from some of his hobbies.  traces of.

    Regarding the proposition of "her", I wanted to write it a long time ago. I have been thinking about whether to write "her" as a novel, prose, poem, or so on.

    "She" has too much but too short warmth for me. Those are the same feelings as Mandheling's cup of coffee in my memory, the double stimulation of warmth and bitterness.

    I still remember that late at night in the cold night, she held my hand naturally, just like the lovers in the previous life met at that moment, the old yellow leaves of ginkgo fell to the street lamp with the wind, and we stepped on them together, and our shadows were crushed.  It's very long, have you ever had that excitement?  If you want to spend your whole life, just walk like that, even if you don't look at each other, you can still echo in your heart.  I hope that the street will be longer, longer, and longer, and then the first ray of sunshine in the morning will shine into our aimless reality, and I only freeze the moment of her smiling and waving in my mind.

    And she is a bottle of red wine.  I remember that I bought a bottle of red wine to drink with a friend. The friend was not there, and she might just want to chat, and we had a sleepless night.  The prelude to a glass of wine is a surprise encounter in a warm day, the sky is blue, the clouds are white, and the people are safe.  In the drunken dream of drinking too much, the angel also has a devil's face, talking about all kinds of life, calm as water but about the helplessness of helplessness, how unwilling, how disturbed and how embarrassing, it is all the sorrow that can only be found in wine.  Seeing her face buried in those firm hands, I drank all the tears that gushed out one by one, and patted her on the shoulder, only then did I understand why people say that Hamlet has thousands of faces.  How many years does it take for a grape to become wine in oak barrels before it becomes the long-lasting meaning in our mouths?  Don't be like this, don't comfort me like this, remember that she still didn't forget her tenacity when she was crying.  Like a bottle of good red wine, it boils all the sourness and bitterness of the green years into years of indifference and stubbornness. If you accidentally see her eyes, don't feel sorry for her.  That night was the closest to death in my life. In the early morning of the next day, I crawled into the bathroom from the floor tiles in the living room, and squatted to wash away my poor self-esteem.  And she will lightly dress up in the mirror in the morning.

    What about her, only one painting left for me.  I can never remember her face, only the words that have been deleted leave the slightest imprint.  If you want to imagine her face, it should be an innocent face with a smile like a flower and clear eyes.  Every tired night, she would ask me everything, work, age, stories, and so on.  She would call me "Uncle" and I would call her "Little Girl".  Before leaving that place, I wanted to meet the little girl, but she cried on the phone and said that it would be better not to see her.  Not long after returning to Chengdu, I received her paintings in the mail, with exquisite frames and exquisite watercolors.  I once made a request to her to draw a picture about me, draw me into Picasso's abstraction, without a face, holding an umbrella, carrying a business briefcase, wearing a long coat, walking in the  rough seas.  And she only mailed me a beautiful watercolor, the combination of bright colors gave me great warmth.  One day I was so drunk that I texted her that her uncle was in pain.  She sent messages one by one to comfort me, and I finally lay down.  The next day I woke up very early and read the long message from her on the phone, which probably said that she couldn't walk my way with me and wanted to say goodbye.  I picked up the painting beside the bed, not knowing what a beautiful face I should give her.

    She is a bird in the cage, flapping her wings every moment, looking for the exit with bruises all over her body, one day she bit off her wings, bit off all the feathers, and walked out of the cage naked.  She used Medusa's eyes to tempt my desires, and I prayed for her a night of peace of mind with the scriptures of the novice monk.  She loathed herself so much that she abused her own lowliness, buried her head in hell, and put her body on fire.  One day she hugged me and said that she was going to fly to the dream world.  I accompanied her to sing, eat, and watch movies, and she smiled beautifully.  Maybe it's because we met in the sea of ??bitterness,??The warmth of a hug from the other party, she will laugh unrestrainedly in front of me.

    She is the lady in a painting, on the wall next to my desk.  She turned her face and looked forward. I only saw another wall in front of me, but I couldn't see the desire in her eyes.  Her eyelashes are very long and her eyes are firm. She is a lady from a foreign country. I am thinking that maybe the place she is looking at is the direction of home.  Her face is sometimes ready to smile, sometimes about to be sad, maybe she is also missing her lover who is far away.  Regrettably, I stayed with her for two years, but I never understood her loneliness. Sometimes she would look at me and just tell me that the world is impermanent with calmness.  I will feel a little guilty for her, because I told her too much sadness, which made her feel a touch of unspeakable sadness.

    She left, I stayed where I was, and drew a circle on my own, drawing a circle, circle after circle, and I still drew a circle.  She has already stepped out of my circle, and I have drawn many, many circles.  I enclosed my ignorance and let her freedom fly.

    And she, to me, is like a glass of mandheling.  (Remember the site URL: www.hlnovel.com
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