I had a dream, in the dream it was a bell in the twilight of seventy and eighty, and when she was about to return to her roots, her eyes, which had been bright, became misty.

She is not even an old man with sharp eyes, she is a real dying. But she kept her eyes open, and I guessed she was thinking. But what are you thinking? I do not know.

It is often said that at the final moment, the firewood, rice, oil and salt have been erased, and only the initial throbbing remains. I remembered that she had been a heavy drinker.

If I could do anything for her, I think it would be to give her another drink while the doctor was unprepared. It's been a long time since she's been drinking.

It's too easy to dream of making things come true, and there is good wine when you stretch out your hand, the purest, which she loves.

Before I could reach her glass, a dozen doctors and nurses burst into the room and scuffled with me.

Quarrels, snatching, and vigorous, you come and go, you advance and I retreat, I broke the wine glass in the chaos, and the smell of incense swayed and filled, filling the ward that was originally full of disinfectant water.

I reached out to reach her, but I was pressed too hard by the doctor to move.

She seemed to have some kind of consciousness, and I had a vague feeling that she was shaking her head at me.

She looked at the drawer on the bedside table, closed her eyes like that, and never moved again.

She wouldn't move, she was beating together. No one took me for a quiet supper in the dead of night, no one took the trouble to listen to me, no one chattered and grinded calluses in my ears.

"I still like him." I say.

I habitually avoided my gaze, afraid to meet her angry eyes.

For a while, she didn't scold me.

Didn't scold me.

She didn't. I don't have a bell anymore.

I can't react. What should I do in the future?

For a long time after that, I couldn't carry the doctor behind my back and give Lingling, who died of liver cancer due to drinking, and drank the last sip of wine before I died, which became a lifelong regret for me.

She still had so many secrets that I didn't know that I suddenly realized that I didn't even know who the boy she missed the last time was.

I suddenly remembered the bedside table. Desperate to rush through the traffic, the mountains and seas, the crowds, and the endless streams, I found the bedside table.

There was a diary on the bedside table, crooked, and I could imagine through the illegible earthworm font how she tossed out this pile of cultural waste under the hands with needles pierced.

Horizontal is not horizontal, vertical is not vertical. Luckily, I love puzzle games, otherwise the last thing she wanted to say would have been buried in time forever.

"January 23rd: It hurts..."

The first time, she said it hurt. It's so lame. I finally got my answer, and on the first day of the Lunar New Year, January 23, she told me the answer I had always wanted in this way - it turned out that not saying it doesn't mean it won't hurt. But I don't know until now.

"January 24th: I seem to have forgotten a lot of things... He called..."

I still don't get that name, why?

"January 25th: I knew you were coming to see me... I'm going to tell you soon... I'm running out of time... But I really can't write that many words..."

My nose is so sore, it's so uncomfortable. As the strokes became more and more unexpected, using up all the brain cells, I pieced together all the words of the next seven days.

"The best thing I like is that I learned to be restrained. Because of him, I learned to do it for myself. I think you'll tell me you can't put it down. You're the strong. Then go for it, no regrets, it's good..."

I couldn't stop crying, my throat was shaking and bleeding.

I think I finally understood why she hadn't drunk again.

Her life is thousands of miles of mountains and rivers, countless guests, some people add color to the mountains and rivers, some people make the sun and the moon dull, that person has changed her river, but when the time comes, it will only stand on the top of the mountain, and the river will look back.

The first thing I did when I woke up, I called Ringbell. She didn't answer, presumably busy.

I immediately added an affectionate WeChat message to make up for the heart I had just hurt in my dream.

"Are you dead?" I'll send the message.

"Ding!" After a while, the phone prompt sounded.

"You're sick! Hoping for my death early in the morning? ”

I didn't reply, I was busy laughing. She scolded me, but it was nice.

The weather is not too good today, it is like his smiling face, and the light shines straight into the cracks in people's hearts.

I opened the WeChat dialog box with him, and the message was still stuck on the good night I replied to him three days ago.

Everything was peaceful, but I was in chaos and restless.

"Shall we bow down?" The message is sent.

He must think there's something wrong with my brain, right? A completely unfamiliar female guest, who couldn't hit the edge, suddenly said this.

Some people, the more they want to give up, the more they will find that every second of their liking is getting a little more.

"Ding!" The prompt sounded, and it shook a tsunami in my heart.

"Hahahaha"

"Excuse me?"

Sure enough, he was stunned. But I can't be confused, I have to keep going.

In fact, before that, I speculated about countless reasons why he didn't look for a girlfriend.

Perhaps, because he is still unstable, he has no intention of maintaining his feelings? Or perhaps, think that women are too troublesome and waste feelings? Or, didn't come across a favorite one?

I would love to tell him that I wasn't in trouble. I want to accompany him through the most difficult time of a man's twentieth year, and it is very worthwhile to work hard with him and use up his entire youth to the fullest.

I'm not noisy, it's my nature not to disturb, I don't need the company of those girls around me all the time, I just want to hear him say, I'm done, I'm in a good mood today, I'm very relieved.

Of course, I know that men have responsibilities and think that we of the opposite sex always think too much about everything. I haven't come up with a good solution to this for the time being, and maybe only time will tell.

Two people carry a flat burden, maybe all the way, and they don't feel tired and lonely.

But every woman has a motherhood. Probably because of this, it is easy to feel that the person in your heart is distressing. Just like I didn't dare to tell my mom when I ate instant noodles alone, she always felt that I wasn't happy enough.

In the same way, I can always feel his faint depression.

How many ups and downs does a man like him have to carry the moon?

A person like him who doesn't like to express himself can only let everything ferment in his heart, so he should have to bear more, right?

I want to be his tree hole and just accompany him. If one day he wants to speak, I will pack his whining as soon as possible. There will always be a day when he wants to speak, and I don't want that day when there will be no one around him.

Actually, if there is someone next to him at that time, and that person is not me, that is also good.

"I smile to the sky with a horizontal knife", "I don't lose money overnight".

It's a name that makes my heart tremble when I touch it.

Wang Xiaohan.