I have been reluctant to watch "The Blue Door", and I always want to keep something in my subconscious, but I don't want to admit that those years that can't be returned. . . . . Zhang Shihao, Scorpio, blood type O, doesn't feel very Scorpio. . . . Gui Lunmei girl's green breath, clean and faint fragrance, seems to be gardenia or fresh green sycamore tree. . . . . There is sunshine, and large tracts pour down, so bright that it turns white, so bright that it hurts my heart. . . . . Those stubborn and simple feelings, the repeated questions in the lines, the answers that cannot be obtained, are still not obtained after all, about youth and the future. . . . . I have always felt sorry for Meng Kerou, watching her dance with Yuezhen in Zhang Shihao's paper mask, watching her crying while sitting on the beach holding her mobile phone, I just felt that kind of abrupt pain hit my heart, hit my memory, hit her. in stories that have long been buried. . . . That kind of forbearance, that kind of repression, crossed the fingertips and hair tips, brewed in the wind of youth, fermented, and fermented again. . . . Where the film touches on homosexuality, the only thing that is not handled well is when Meng Kerou said to Zhang Shihao in the gym, if, at the age of 17, all you think about is whether you can go to college, you are no longer a virgin, and you can pee straight, you should What a happy kid. It feels a bit contrived. . . . In the final monologue of Gui Lunmei, he said that after three years and five years, he will become an adult. He saw the young man smiling and standing in front of a blue gate. The sun was shining at three o'clock in the afternoon. Meng Kerou ran over to ask him if he was okay, and the young man nodded. . . . But the simple Kerou didn't know that in three or five years, or even longer, maybe she would not see such a young man, nor would she see the blue door. Because, some things, gone is gone, everything that happened in that summer is left in that summer, the future may not be as thought, many things, many people, those cute childish, pure and beautiful fantasy, All will become beautiful and fragile bubbles in the passage of time. . . . Kerou said, what will we become? I couldn't bear to tell her that one year later, three years later, five years later, or even longer, when I walked by and looked back, I realized that at three o'clock in the afternoon, the sun was still warm, but there was no blue door at all. turn out to be. . . . .
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