The cut of time
It was still the hoarse and choked cry of two cuckoo birds.
From the same direction a month ago.
There were only two voices, and then everything fell silent.
My steps should be inaudible. I know that although my heart is heavy and my body is staggering, I didn’t hear my steps gently, on this barren mountain and Ridge, the wind blew gently.
But does it know I’m coming? I felt the cold feeling of my tears or the warm heart brought by me.
I know. It turns out that you are not so lonely. At these times, it will accompany you to cry blood.
There must be birds with you. In the thick sad Ashes in front of the grave, in the round shallow pit, there is a feather, small, gray and white feather.
I don’t know if it is flying in my sad sky, I don’t know if it is singing at my window.
Today, the pile of paper money has burned to ashes, which is still the appearance of gray roses in heaven. The residual temperature, birds, please come and spend more time with my dear wife.
The elm in front of your grave seems to grow taller. Although it shows a gaunt appearance, it still grows taller. Autumn is coming, they can block some cold wind for you, but you still can’t see the TTL far away. I often stare at the TTL.
However, the years have cut the incisions, and under the suffocating green wall that you have nowhere to escape, there are small triangular incisions.
I know that the weeds withered and curled up. You can take a breath and stare at the distance.
I know, it’s just like my previous false ambition to advance. The entertainment that I can’t seem to push off before will wither inadvertently with your departure. Only those memories rooted deep and those deeply buried warmth are left.
The scattered weeds around you are yellow, some once spread on the ground recklessly, some once stretched to the sky in a hurry, and now they twitch or cry silently.
I ramble about the children’s study and life, which you rambled to me after dinner, but I know that you want to hear most now, they are your heart meat, without the warmth of your wings, how can you rest assured?
The sky is gray and expressionless. It is no different from me walking alone on the street, leaving the crowd alone and looking up at the full moon, which is no different from these many times.
Suddenly I remembered that when I was reading a book, I suddenly found a drop of tears in the book, crystal and helpless tears, which were the blood flowing from the incision of time. I raised my head, wiped my eyes and closed the book, at a loss.
September 14, 2020
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