"There are Wendu prison girls in Huizhou, who are quite colorful. At the age of sixteen, he refused to marry. ”

……

The man died and was buried on the beach side. The woman has not returned since......

Lonely sandbar cold.

……

Fifty or sixty years ago, in Yupu City, there was no towering steel forest, no fast-food love, no painless human flow, only poetic snuggling and lingering, and love was set for life.

Grandma Tan lives on the Baiyue Beach in Yupu City, where there is a mess of ruins, leaving only gray residential buildings, gray residential buildings, the sea breeze blows salt on the already dilapidated inner and outer walls, so that the whole building is filled with a strong musty smell, the four seasons are like this, the distress of the seaside people is nothing more than being eroded in the dry sea breeze.

There was one exception, however, when he cut through the wall that had been ruthlessly torn down by the excavator, and sat in a circle beside a twisting old tree with gravel of various sizes, and sat on the ground like this, with a sloppy stubble on his face and a layer of white ash on his hair, as depressed as a vagabond, but with an indescribable temperament.

He held a collection of poems by various poets in his hand, but only one was turned over and bowed like a boiled shrimp, and when he looked at it, it was Su Shi's poetry collection, which was a little ridiculous when he thought about it, obviously he was a person who couldn't eat anymore, and he was still stuffing spiritual food into his brain, something that life does not bring and death does not bring.

"Brother Shu, you like this poem too. The vicissitudes of life man said, "In this poem, you are the protagonist." ”

The tree is very faceless and silent.

"Brother Shu, since you are the protagonist, why can't you let this pair of lovers finally become married?" the vicissitudes of life still muttered to the tree, "Why wait for things to be wrong before you start to turn back and repent?"

The tree remained silent.

The vicissitudes of life man laughed to himself, feeling that he was playing the piano to the cow.

He had always wanted to find one, just a fair lady who could enjoy this bleak beauty with him, and taste the charm of this world, in this unrecognizable land that was pounded by the demolition team.

He straightened his hair like a straw nest, and turned his gaze away from the old trees to the lonely residential buildings around him, where would there still be anyone? Is it a stubborn middle-aged nail household? Or is it a widow and loneliness with his wife's voice and smile in the room, and still a trace of obsession in his heart?

Anyway, there must be no one I'm looking for, after all, how can a lady give up her right to live in the city and let herself gradually become a yellow-faced woman in this cold sea breeze?

He laughed self-deprecatingly, wiped the small pieces of salt crystals on his face, his mouth was the size of a bowl, and there was a sleepy crystal in the corner of his eye.

At noon, it is the warmest time on White Moon Beach, and the originally naughty seagulls have become a little slack, stumbling and flying low on the sparkling sea, and the dark green crabs on the shore are lazily camping on the beach.

At this time, the vicissitudes of life man will lie down with these little crabs that are no more than an inch or two long, and he rubs the shell of the little crab with his thumb and forefinger, as if he is caressing the neck of a baby in swaddling clothes, even if he is looking for a cold-blooded animal, he will not have any feelings at all on his warm fingertips.

He didn't seem to care much about it, it was a daily nap time that was as important as an exquisite breakfast of eggs, ham and toast with milk.

In his words, this is also a kind of practice, because napping is the best time to meditate, at this time, the sky will become the bluest, the sun will become the most gorgeous, these are the essence of heaven and earth, can be all greedily squeezed by his lonely and vicissitudes of life.

But usually, there is no more relics gradually gathered by the enlightened people in the lonely and vicissitudes of life, but on the outside of the skin, there is more fine sand raised by the sea breeze.

He didn't want to wake up, in this city against him, he was not a noble saint, just an outcast of the era who had mistakenly touched the culture of poetry, and he didn't have any hopeless feelings about the injustice of this world, he just felt that falling asleep could slow down the consumption of the last trace of glucose in his body.

In the afternoon, he was always woken up hungry, and the taste was really uncomfortable, but he had to go through it once a day, like a surprise inspection in the boy's dormitory, which was a kind of torture, which was unbearable, so every time he came to this time, he would take out Su Shi's poetry collection and take a look, he felt that he was a writer, and a writer would not care about being hungry, he always said that to himself, and he survived one afternoon after another.

Time spins like a roulette wheel, and the tide rises and stops......

"Don't I really have the roots to be a writer?" The vicissitudes of life woke up at dusk as always, surprised that he had not yet driven west.

He had been hungry for about seven days, and the vicissitudes of life did not seem to have any particularly prominent changes except that the stubble had become more lush, but because the fatigue had been eliminated after a good night's sleep, and his cheeks were healthy and rosy.

He was secretly glad in his heart that he had earned another day of life, and that he could take out the book of poems that he regarded as a treasure and taste it again.

He took out his book of poems as usual, and began to chatter about his longing for the old tree that had survived until the residential building not far away, which he often overlooked, collapsed as a token of his dreams, and became a ruin.