If you post a romance novel written by yourself, commemorate your first love, and read it if you want to read it. It's my first love anyway.

I still don't know if there was love that summer

There is a fruit tree in the south of the village that has undergone changes, and the poet sits under the tree, holding his chin with one hand, and his deep gaze falls on the wilderness. He thinks about life, the future, and the meaning of life, but more often than not, he is pondering a person, and he has spent most of his life guessing her actions and thoughts, but he is always at a loss.

It's a very unreasonable thing, and it's even more unreasonable to think about someone for most of your life, but no one can say it clearly, and the same is true for poets. It doesn't make sense that you're forced to come into this world, let alone anything else.

The poet closed his eyes, and his soul traced back to the fruit tree thirty years ago, when it was Mu Yun who sat in the poet's place, and Mu Yun did not know the poet at that time. She blinked her eyes and looked up at the fruit of the tree, and let out a wow-wrenching exclamation, the longing that came from her heart made her tiptoe like a stealing wild cat. The girl looked around and stood on tiptoe, plucked the fruit, and rubbed it twice on her pink dress. It didn't take long for the pits to fall all over the ground. The girl left her mark on the tree, and Mu Yun was very happy to divide the territory of this fruit tree, she wanted to share her joy with everyone, but there was no one in the field. In the days to come, the poet was one of the few people who knew about this foolish thing that pleased her.

The poet's flattered expression was another silly thing that made her want to laugh.

His thoughts were interrupted, and the poet angrily slammed his fist on the trunk of the tree, and it hurt! The poet thought that there must be a large bag on the top of his head, and he curiously searched for it with his hand, ~hiss~ What a big bag, the size of half an apple. The poet frowned and stared at the fruit in his hand, he was the only victim in this matter, and it was all his own red, slightly swollen left hand that was to blame. He can't impose his fault on a fruit, which is too huge to break his bones without knowing it. The poet could not blame his own hands, so he buried the fruit in the soil, trampled it on the ground, and then soaked urine on the soil, hoping that he would accept his apologetic gift. The poet longs for the fruit planted in a certain year and month to grow into another fruit tree, and the fruit tree of the girl will grow together, and the world will bless them, and may they be happy and happy.

The poet leaves the fruit tree, leaves the woman's childhood, he walks aimlessly, there is no end to the road, and there will be no beginning under the fruit tree. The poet recalls the first time he walked through the iron gate, when he ran as fast as he could, trying to get away from the pent-up fear in his heart. He found a girl who was running as desperately as he did, and the poet subconsciously followed her, and finally stopped at the door of the women's bathroom. In fact, the poet should have thought that God used the poet's whole life to make a joke, in the poet's ignorant childhood.

When the girl came out, she looked at the poet standing alone at the door of the women's toilet in confusion, and finally beat him up as a pervert. After that, the poet became the girl's henchman, and the girl's only good friend, at least so the poet thought.

The poet sat on the ridge of the field, his head hanging down, his waist bent very low, and he became one with the whole field, swaying with the wind. There was a root in the dirt that held him so that he would not be swept away by the oncoming wind. The poet thinks that this may be his final destination, but it is more likely that it is not.

By the time autumn comes, everything will not be known.

Many years ago, Mu Yun may have had the same dream in the same place as the poet, her dream didn't know when she woke up, but the poet's dream just began, the poet likes Haizi, likes Gu Cheng, likes to read "Spring Blossoms Facing the Sea", and likes to read "Generation". Mu Yun said to the poet that Haizi and Gu Cheng were both self-killed, but they sang about life all day long, singing about love and light, which is ridiculous, isn't it? The woman's expression at that moment hides sadness, and the poet can see her sadness.

How could he not be aware?

He knows better than anyone!

People tell girls their dreams of being a poet. It may be a gamble, but if it is said, it must be done, and the poet never lies to a girl.

When you become a poet, I'll marry you, silly, and my words count!

At that moment, the girl was carrying the light on her back, clear and blurry, obviously close in front of her, but untouchable.

Tears popped out of his eyes, across his cheeks, downward, and down to the atrium, and the coolness reached his bones. The poet stood up, flattened the soil on which he had sat and erased the traces of his stint from the place. The poet stopped and walked back, and passed the fruit tree, and the poet faced the wind, and the leaves fluttered in his ears.

When did a poet become a poet? At some ordinary time, he was suddenly given this title. He doesn't understand it very well, but some people say yes, that is, the so-called poet should live in the eyes of others.

He's happy, and he should be happy. The poet called Mu Yun, and it was through, the woman's voice came out of the mobile phone, and the poet was incoherent, and it took a long time to make the words clear.

I'm a poet.

Mu Yun laughed on the other side of the phone, and the poet didn't know why she was laughing. The poet only thinks that the woman's laughter is very good, and it is the most beautiful music he has ever heard.

No wonder you call, are you showing off to me?

The psalmist says no. The poet asked Mu Yun if she had forgotten anything.

There was silence, and the poet waited silently, he thought, and the woman might remember.

Silly, I'm getting married.

The phone fell to the floor and was immediately picked up by the poet, who became even more incoherent.

The phone was hung up, and I don't know when, but the poet's hand kept going. The world was so big, and for the first time he felt a place to stay.

In the corner of the auditorium, the poet sat in solitude. He bought a particularly expensive suit, extraordinarily expensive trousers, and a particularly expensive gift. The poet arrives three hours early to curse the marriage and bless the person she loves.

The poet left before the wedding, thinking that if there was only one shadow of one person in one's life, there would be no choice!

The fourth in the third row of the stone slab bridge in the south of the village is Mu Yun's home, and the poet has a bad sense of direction and has gone around several circles.

Hello, I am a friend of Mu Yun. The poet hunched over and smiled a little stiffly.

The old man got up from the wooden chair and looked at the poet with vicissitudes in his eyes.

Xiao Yun's friend, you were the first to find this place. The old man squinted his eyes, as if he was recalling something, and suddenly his eyes lit up, and he asked, are you called a dumb melon?

The poet shook his head, why do you ask?

The old man hung his head slightly, his hands on crutches trembled slightly, and his silver-white hair glistened in the sun.

Xiao Yun said before, if anyone can find here, that person must be stupid, what, don't you know?

The poet lowered his head, a smile came out of his mouth, and the corners of his eyes were uncontrollably wet, Mu Yun had always treated him like a dead person, and he had never changed.

Mu Yun divorced, and then the world evaporated, and the poet went crazy looking for her. Where a woman has been, where a woman might go, where a woman may have accidentally gone wrong. The poet kept looking for it, and kept doing this thankless thing, as if he was addicted, so he had to drink to quench his thirst.

When the haggard-faced poet walked up to the drunken woman, Mu Yun raised her head and stared at the poet's deep dark eyes and smiled wantonly.

I knew that you would come to me, and you would be the first to come to me at any time.

Mu Yun lay on the poet's thin body, and wrapped her hand around the poet's neck.

Let's go, let's go home, I'll go wherever the melon goes!

The poet carried Mu Yun on his back and walked under the tree, and the shadow of the tree reflected by the street lamp was trampled under his feet. Mu Yun fell asleep, and the soft gasp breathed around the poet's neck, tickling and happy.

I'm hungry.

The poet went to cook for the woman.

Silly, I want to get out.

The poet followed the woman, watching over her inseparably.

Silly, I'm not feeling well.

The poet took care of the woman day and night, curled up and slept at the foot of the bed.

Idiot, why are you so stupid, there is no one more stupid in the world.

The poet did not speak, but silently helped the woman to fold the quilt.

Silly, I'm getting married.

The poet left a note for Mu Yun and left. He hid in a no-man's corner and heard Mu Yun giggling. He knew that women cried, and women always liked to giggle when they cried.

- I won't be looking for you again.

The poet held two books of poetry in his hand, which he had given to Mu Yun many years ago, and the poet found them in the woman's bedroom and stayed quietly in the corner of the desk. The paper has yellowed, but it still looks new. The old man said that Mu Yun liked these two books very much, and no one was allowed to touch them.

They are waiting, poets, or poets......

The poet turned the book, inadvertently glanced at the page with the bookmark in it, and then turned back to the book - silly melon, write me a poem!

The poet wanted to cry, what did she want. After all, the poet failed to understand Mu Yun, and he will not have a chance to understand it again.

The poet was leaving, but he left without waiting for autumn, taking only the collection of poems she had given to Mu Yun, which contained poems written for women.

???????? How are you

I hope you're doing well

The soil on the ridge is still new

You took the old one with you

How are you

I think you're good

The meal was still hot

You walked away with the cold

How are you

You should be fine

Our home is still empty

You left with love, with determination, with my thoughts

You took everything with you

I'm the only one left

How are you

Don't stop talking

Don't hide everything in your heart, put it in a book, and bury it in the ground

Don't just listen to me alone

Don't make me lose your voice

I can't catch your shadow

It's so cold on the field

You know

I'm shaking

You know

Am I missing anyone?

You know

Do I love you

I think you know

How are you

I guess

You must be fine

The psalmist says you are the best

The story ends.

That year, Mu Yun died of congenital heart disease, and the poet came to Mu Yun's hometown in the summer and left at the end of the summer.

I don't know if I lost love that summer.