In the long heat this summer, the early hours of the morning are probably the most comfortable. Just get into the habit. At dawn, it's definitely about 4:30 in the morning, and it's time for me to get up or fall asleep.
This is the law of my life.
But I went to bed early last night, around eleven. When I woke up, it was still dark and I was about to go to sleep. Suddenly I felt that the buzzing of mosquitoes and the movement of the air were a bit special, not like a thick midnight. I looked at my watch and it was five o'clock.
I got up, cleaned myself up, walked out of my smoky room, and just stepped out of the corridor, I made Autumn a hard somersault.
First, there was a gust of wind, Shi Shiran hit, like a huge skirt, squeezing me from head to toe, like squeezing toothpaste, immediately my mood was very happy. I am not as energetic in summer as in winter, which is a clear-headed problem. Come and solve it for me first in autumn, why not do it.
The sky that had been oppressing the entire summer suddenly became very high, and I looked up—countless small white clouds like rotten silver lined up neatly on the pure blue sky. Those lovely auras, I can't wait to hug them gently and eat two bites. I see a face in the sky. Thinking of this song written a long time ago, the mood is very different, and people are already a lot older-are people old? I just stood there and watched, watching it endlessly, I want to watch it slowly disappear, slowly and firmly stored in my place.
There are more people coming and going. Some people look like me. It is more romantic. I bless them. Some people look at me strangely and walk away quickly. I also bless them because they are busy for something. Life is like this. You always have to do something or feel something. Both of these processes are worthy of respect and should not be neglected.
Just like me, I want to stand firm, like an old antelope, calmly guarding my network, the edge of the steel wire of the jar. It's ready at six o'clock. At the entrance of the garden, there are juicy and delicious big buns with fresh meat, a thick layer of red and bright spicy oil and green coriander, and tofu brains dotted with smoked and dried rutabaga, as well as cat-like enthusiasm. Youtiao, soy milk like a beautiful and demure girlfriend, and hot noodle pancakes with green onions that are tender on the outside and tender to the heart and lungs like a close friend.
There are rows of houses here, behind every window, there is a story, or it happened in my place, or it is what I want to hear now. Every sleepwalking man is as unwilling to stop as I am. Every woman in a nightdress has been loved or is being loved. Every old man is rich and every child is fresh. Every puppy is vivid, and every pigeon is well-behaved. I have to be like this every morning, although I am different from the past, I am always fantasizing about adventures, always eager to give a fiery passion, and always being played by the surly reality, and being awakened from the enthusiasm by this rare weather today. I'm not alone anymore, am I.
It is this loneliness, like a quilt, covered in a high sky. As the number of people in my room changes, it will fall, or swoop, or entangle, or flutter. Beauty is beautiful, a little bit cruel, I know.
Hey, my Beijing, the traffic-controlled Beijing yesterday, and the hottest summer in the country this year, the Beijing that hit my nerves with such a beautiful autumn, completely messed up my life, unfolded my story completely, and drove me Carefully spread out a piece of recycled white paper in Beijing.
