She is an assassin in a black tights, and a dagger can pierce the weakness in my heart. She added poison to the blade, which is a poison that the human body cannot be immune to. The toxicity is not severe, she will let the human body know what is called slowly and profoundly.
The emotions that live in the atrium are beating on the tip of the knife, the beating is the mood, the memory engraved on the bone is walking in the blood, and the walking is the memory.
I can’t save this throbbing pain, just like this heavy burden, lost memories. When a kind of goodness only allows you to remember, we can only ease it into helplessness. But helplessness is a passive, passive compromise.
Like a dagger that you can’t dodge in her hand. Such a poison that cannot be immune. This poison will follow your heartbeat all over your body, numb your nerves, make your breathing vulgar, and make people a prisoner in her hands.
Then she heard her viciously say, “I have captured you. From now on, your pain will not belong to you, your happiness will not belong to you, memories are no longer your memories, love-hate parting is no longer hard to give up. Because you met me, all this will become very interesting.”
If the assassin is not too cold, he will become the incarnation of passion, I don’t need to question it, because the taste under her black cloak shakes away the memories. When memories are on the ground, will they be as ordinary as fallen leaves? I see a fallen leaf, think of a person, and use writing to remember.
Write down our encounter, our feelings, our love, our hate, our pain, and the tears we shed and the ending that cannot be continued. It becomes a story just like the description in every book. When a story is in a book, it will become a flat word. People who don’t read books don’t know that every word is fresh, and people who don’t understand memories will know how loyal memories are to feelings.
Memories can be rewritten, just as everything in this world can be betrayed. Even if you can rewrite the memories, you can betray, but the loyalty of memories to us will not change with time.
And her appearance does not allow you to betray. I want to be a traitor of memories, betraying my despair when I feel despair, even if there is no hope in return. When I feel the pain, betray my pain, even if I don’t get a trace of comfort.
If all of this is possible, I would rather use betrayal to make the final resistance. Because I don’t want to succumb to pain, and I don’t want to be helpless. Just as the best way to die is to die together, use betrayal to fight to eliminate all negatives.
The same is from life to death. To see through the blind is to live from death. Although everyone dies every day and walks shoulder to shoulder, these pains do not come from death, because death is not challenging. Maybe everyone’s life is different. The fate is so close, and the same result by different routes is the sorrow of every living body.
It was her who accompanied me to see through the dream. The dream was a goal without distance, and it was a promise that I didn’t know to whom.
My dreams and my longings have been entangled countless times in the bottom of my heart, and every pain comes from their collision, which makes me feel flustered and disturbed. The hesitating heart has no direction, and the lost heart can’t be strong. It’s impossible to control the others except for the one that stumbles all the way.
Using a person’s insignificance to sigh the reality in the context of the big time, the only thing that I can experience is despair. Feeling that life shouldn’t come, feeling that love shouldn’t be love, feeling that you don’t know what fate is, feeling that too many encounters have been lost in time, feeling that you have lived with your family, your parents, yourselves, and your experiences.
Come with emotion, go with emotion, with only a bunch of memories left in life. When I felt that everything was wrong, I realized that even the existence of self is also a mistake. Even if it was born a mistake, no one can be sure that all this life will be a wrong payment.
I didn’t want to go to bed early and met her, but she stabbed and looked at my many memories weakly. Writing is a kind of lyric, description is a kind of experience. Whose story is all right and wrong, whose growth is not bumpy, whose dream does not collide with reality, whose life is not so impermanent, we are all people who explore the truth, in order to live Seek to survive.
When you have all thoughts lost, it is a possibility to live, because life is wonderful and you can create your own possibility under the premise of impossible, raise a belief in one breath, and stop blaming others alone.
Everyone is living for themselves, and when they can’t find a goal to live for themselves, they should also think that people are not only living for themselves, parents live for their children, this is their belief. Women are tolerant for themselves, and scholars die for confidants. This is their love. I find that people who live for others can find happiness, and most people who live for themselves are confused.
She is countless amorous nights, writing down what I think is my happiness.