This is an anti-theft chapter, replaced at 11 o'clock tomorrow morning, and found that it can't be written at 11 o'clock tonight T_T

Actually, I don't want to think of her.

She wasn't pretty enough, she wasn't tall, and she was thin; The nickname is also known as "monkey"; Surprisingly, she wasn't lively at all.

After the lights go out in the dormitory, she always likes to sneak to the staircase by herself, and read a heavy book by the dim light of the sensor lamp.

The whole process, silent.

That year, the traversal text was just emerging, and she was simply "deeply affected", whether it was in class or after class, she was addicted to those virtual worlds, and occasionally looked up, with an inexplicable melancholy face.

At that time, I had a gloomy personality, didn't like to deal with people, and had a serious mother-love plot; Every time I came back to school, I always had to hide under the covers and cry a few times, and that year, I was already in my second year of junior high school.

How did you know that?

I mean the kind of recognition that makes good friends,

Maybe my personality is really unsociable, and gradually I am the only one, but I am a person who is afraid of loneliness by nature. Every night, listening to the sound of other people's breathing as they fall asleep, I can only toss and turn in bed, unable to name a reason for my insomnia.

Finally one day, I wanted to go out at night to blow the wind, and I walked to the staircase, knowing that she must be there. Sure enough, she held a flashlight and read a book at a glance, presumably because her myopia had worsened recently, her eyes were very close to the book, and her back was slightly rickety.

I didn't disturb her, and sat down next to her slowly, not far away were the sporadic lights of the residential houses, and there was a clear dog barking in my ears, and there was a different kind of peace.

I couldn't help sneezing in the cool breeze of early autumn, and turned my head to find that she was staring at me, with the warm eyes that she had; She didn't speak, and when I was overwhelmed, she picked up another and handed it to me, motioning for me to pass the time.

I took it, and I was not used to the colorful cover and straightforward title, and I read some of it and found that there were too many typos, so I gave up. At that time, I was a good student and regarded this "garbage" as poison.

I began to look at the stars boringly, the stars were shining in the dark blue sky, I heard others say that people who see meteors will be very happy, but at that time I looked at it for a long time and did not find one, and then there was none, the pessimism in my bones, in fact, I have always thought that I am an unlucky person.

So I am willing to be lonely, willing to be ordinary, and willing to be half a beat slower than others.

In this way, I and her, who had fallen into another world, became a regular visitor to the staircase, and although we did not have the slightest common language, she was my comfort to each other, at least in my eyes.

In those dim lights, the cold wind, the shadows pouring on the ground, and her quiet side became the scene that came to my mind the most often.

I don't know what kind of person I'm going to become. When I was a child, I was called up by my teacher to speak, and I decided to be a scientist in the future; Later with the math results of the trough cake, these were obviously empty talk.

The goal is always to think big, and in order to motivate oneself to satisfy one's own self-appreciating vanity, everyone will not easily admit that in the near future they will be reduced to one of all living beings, born without being noticed, and after death, they will not be silently mourned.

Of course she was.

When I was asked what to do all day long, she told me that she wanted to be the second Guo Jingming, and the reason why she didn't say transcendence was because in her heart, the man who "condensed is the essence" was her god.

Later, I was curious about what kind of articles this man had written, so I went to a bookstore and rented a copy of his magazine, which was even a few cents more expensive than an ordinary book, and I had to lose my deposit again. I finally got it back, but I suddenly lost interest, put it under the pillow for a few days, and was watched and played by me once when I went to the toilet and fell into the pit.

Of course, I didn't dare to mention a word to her about this.

She finally started to write articles, following the path she had taken as a "male god", but at that time we were already divided into classes, and her shy nature caused me to never see her write, even if she won a literary competition award later, I also learned through other people's conversations.

I can imagine that when the award was sent to the class, she took it with her head down, but she didn't blush.

The night before I was classified, I felt sad, on the one hand, I was anxious about the new class, and on the other hand, if I didn't have her company, I would really be completely alone in this school. I didn't go to the stairs that night, I slept in bed tossing and turning, tears flowing, I knew I was a weak person, but I was ashamed to be so fragile.

In the middle of the night, I heard someone whispering my name, my voice was choked and I couldn't speak, she seemed to guess something, tiptoed into my quilt, brought in a cold wind, I was startled, she pressed the quilt for me, didn't speak, turned around and slept with her back to me, I tentatively wanted to hug her, she put her hand on my hand, signaling that it was okay.

It was the first time I was so close to her, and she smelled of milky shower gel, which smelled very good, and I dreamed in a hazy way, dreaming that my father came home on a snowy day, and my mother ran to open the door, and the snow poured into the house, and I shivered with cold, and called "Mommy", and in a half-dream, she patted me on the back, thinking that I was having a nightmare.

I found that I was so dependent on her.

But I really don't want to think of her, a person's dream, when moving forward, if you encounter all kinds of realities, then this dream, you will carry too many things, obviously, she is my back.

I'm not sure how I fell in love with writing, at first it was keeping a diary, and then it became prose, and in those years the whole country entered a crazy craze for writing, maybe it was influenced by these, and maybe it was influenced by her, I started to write, and after the first article was praised by others, the inexplicable joy and excitement made my chest shake, and all of a sudden, I wished that I could grow up to be a writer.

Her dreams were revived many years earlier than mine, and she had a talent and experience that I could hardly match, and I both envied and felt my own insignificance. Unconsciously, this girl who stood side by side with me at the top of the stairs stood at the height I looked up to because of various awards and honors.

But the same comes with "carrying".

She dropped out of school.

It wasn't until one day, when I found that I hadn't seen her for a long time, and there was no sign of her in the dim light at the staircase, that I found her class and knew that due to the sudden changes in her family, she was too poor to go to school, even if it was only nine years of compulsory education.

She didn't tell me she was leaving, she didn't even say goodbye, but that's okay, in my heart, she always maintained a bright image, the genius girl I still admired, not me watching the gray back, disappearing into the world in a daze.

It's just sad that she mentioned that she was going to participate in the competition in Guo Jingming's company, and she was afraid that she would end a paragraph.

When I lifted the pen, I could always think of that night, the good smell of her, she patted the touch on my back, and when I lifted the pen, I could always think of that night, the good smell of her body, she patted the touch on my back, and then the tip of my pen became extremely heavy, as if stealing her dream, she just completed the "baptism" of my dream.

But I obviously felt that my dedication to writing was getting worse and worse, and even if I was hit and ridiculed for a while, I still couldn't give up, and in my heart, there was always a voice solemnly and cruelly telling me that I had no reason to be defeated by such a small setback.

The mottled wall at the top of the staircase may bear witness to the cycle of a person's dreams being born or shattered, but no one tells me where my fate and her fate will end. Then the tip of my pen became unusually heavy, as if stealing her dreams, and there was always a voice solemnly and cruelly telling me that I had no reason to be defeated by such a small setback.

The mottled wall at the top of the staircase may bear witness to the cycle of a person's dreams being born or shattered, but no one tells me where my fate and her fate will end. , she just completed the "baptism" of my dreams. The cycle of a person's dreams being born or shattered, but no one tells me where my fate and her fate will come to an end. , she just completed the "baptism" of my dreams.

But I obviously felt that my dedication to writing was getting worse and worse, and even if I was hit and ridiculed for a while, I still couldn't give up, and in my heart, there was always a voice solemnly and cruelly telling me that I had no reason to be defeated by such a small setback.

The mottled wall at the top of the staircase may bear witness to the cycle of a person's dreams being born or shattered, but no one tells me where my fate and her fate will end. The cycle of a person's dreams being born or shattered, but no one tells me where my fate and her fate will come to an end. , she just completed the "baptism" of my dreams.

But I obviously felt that my dedication to writing was getting worse and worse, and even if I was hit and ridiculed for a while, I still couldn't give up, and in my heart, there was always a voice solemnly and cruelly telling me that I had no reason to be defeated by such a small setback.

The mottled wall at the top of the staircase may bear witness to the cycle of a person's dreams being born or shattered, but no one tells me where my fate and her fate will end.

But I obviously felt that my dedication to writing was getting worse and worse, and even if I was hit and ridiculed for a while, I still couldn't give up, and in my heart, there was always a voice solemnly and cruelly telling me that I had no reason to be defeated by such a small setback.

The mottled wall at the top of the staircase may bear witness to the cycle of a person's dreams being born or shattered, but no one tells me where my fate and her fate will end.