I can't find any reason to prove his existence. Memory is all the evidence, and it becomes blurred and distorted over time. Sometimes I suspect that it is just a dream of mine.
And he is the man in the dream, the stranger who smiled at me.
No gifts, no letters, no phone number or an email. Had an illusion of a person on the Internet. Had an illusory dream.
I can't find the sentimental primer to remind me of the continuation and unrepeatability of time. The days and nights of the past played repeatedly in my mind and my heart, like a shackle that constricted the pace of advancement.
I seem to be drowning in the mud after falling down in the footsteps of life. There was a voice calling to move forward but it was just a futile struggle.
Why can't I see it; I am convinced by mistake. All the pain and joy are created by my own imagination, ruining the lives of myself and others bit by bit, and casting a rose-colored sharp knife with fantasy.
We are all born orphans longing for love. A smile from parents, friends, lovers, even just strangers. However, sometimes love comes as it should be, making people forget that love can never be forced nor copied.
When you are afraid of losing, dare not ask loudly and cannot get away, illusion covers reality like a huge mist; reality becomes like a dream.
I keep adding to myself some goals and tasks that seem to be impossible to accomplish; my life is full and busy and my heart is always stacked in chaos. I dare not stop myself, because once I stop, I will think wildly. Thinking of my struggling desires, dreams that I will never get, and my loneliness and fear. And I can't admit all of this.
Sometimes I feel that I am the invader that I cannot escape in my life.
I brought old memories to disrupt today's life. To be precise, it is my brain that should be equally busy and paralyzed today.
My body needs sleep, but my brain refuses to stop. I have different dreams night after night, and then forget them with new things during the day. Sometimes I dream about my life. I think they have been agreed long ago, and they will never happen as I wish. There are some people and things that I can never make up or redeem. It has passed like time and I still stand on the bridgehead and believe that it will flow backwards. They eroded small holes one by one in their hearts. The warmth I yearn for is a story made up by others.
——Angelique threw the box into the dark flowing water in the middle of the night, but couldn't give up her dream.
Maybe we all have some weak or strong desires, always flashing in the dark. She domineeringly believed her perspective.
Love is like a deeply buried stubborn extravagant hope. If it is replaced by someone else, it will be a beautiful story. The persistent heroine keeps improving the ending. But why can't it? Like a drug addict, she repeatedly changed her mistakes, and finally turned to slap herself.
Repeatedly, it is late autumn that has withered, holding the same leaf in my hand and thinking about the blooming midsummer. That autumn couldn't end, so I couldn't wait for the spring flowers to bloom.
Angelique didn't do it.
She used a variety of pills behind the closet of the mental hospital to spell out the appearance of a man she loves deeply. I guess we can all only declare this quietly, and if you ask for more, you are destined to lose more thoroughly, until it destroys your life. Her back disappeared helplessly at the end of the corridor, and he was smiling with his wife and daughter on the sunny grass. I can't tell which is right and wrong, but I feel sad for An Qi's strong love.
Because we care too much, we are all set to lose.
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