Sitting in front of the computer desk, you stare at the online names of group members and become lost in thought. The online name "What is the meaning of love" catches your attention. You quietly ask yourself: What is the meaning of love? Then you sigh softly and say, "Does love have an answer?" Deep inside, you answer again: Love has no answer. You look at your reflection in the mirror, blinking your eyes which are already red. You smile, a bright and sunny smile, and say, "Hehe, first love, such a trivial matter."
You gaze silently at your diary book, which you've named "Xini". You pick up a red pen, thinking about breast augmentation surgery. You feel that red is very striking, yet it deeply attracts people and makes them remember. You want to tell "Xini" something, but your heart is so chaotic and tangled. Finally, on the flyleaf, you draw a crying sun. Then you draw a crow flying over the sun's head, adding a caption for the crow: "How absurd, even the sun cries after [chest plastic surgery]. Haha, first love, just a trivial matter."
You take up Zhang Ailing's "Love in a Fallen City" and write on the flyleaf with a blue pen: "Is Liu Su a smart woman?" Why use a blue pen? Because someone once told you that gentle souls turn blue. Then you pick up "The Linked Rings", comparing the two books in your hand, and you smile faintly: "I still prefer 'Love in a Fallen City' more."
You tidy up your wardrobe and realize that almost all your clothes are white, pure white. You smile, recalling someone telling you that people who like white seem pale, as if white gives a sense of powerlessness, a deep sense of helplessness. You admire yourself in the large mirror on the wardrobe door and then say, "Silly me, stop moaning without illness here."
Sitting on the floor by the staircase, propping your chin in your hand, you gaze out of the skylight lost in thought. You wonder, did dad specially install this big skylight for me to daydream properly? "What are you doing sitting on the floor? Silly child," mom asks affectionately. "Hehe, I'm looking at the sky, there's a heavy rain," you reply. "Silly girl, you can see from the sofa too," mom says. "Mom, I feel something special when sitting on the floor, as if I've become smaller," you say softly.
You're puzzled, puzzled why people say that gazing at the sky is gazing at sorrow. Gazing at the sky is so happy. Lifting your head slightly, how beautiful and free, how innocent that posture is. You check your phone and see three missed calls. Your lips curve upwards, hehe, someone is still thinking of me. You suddenly feel like cursing, but you're afraid dad will hear and scold you. So, you mutter a curse softly in your heart: "This real world is fucking cool!" You laugh smugly because no one knows you cursed. Playing with your waist-length hair, you sigh softly: "In a bad mood, let's get my hair cut."
You take out your manuscript book, wanting to write a poem or lyrics, but suddenly you remember what your brother said: "Neither force nor confuse new words." Finally, you lightly write six big characters on the white paper: "First love, such a trivial matter."
You're very confused, sitting in the room, asking dumbly at your reflection in the large mirror: "Am I arrogant? Proud? Superior?" You look at the dog beside you and laugh stupidly, thinking that since watching "Three Idiots," you've become an idiot yourself. You ask the dog: "What's the difference between arrogance and pride? I think they must be related."
"I really want a gun," you say excitedly. Since watching "Let the Bullets Fly," you've always wanted a gun. After seeing "Leon: The Professional," you write: "My ideal is to be a cleaner. Because Leon says: I am a cleaner." &sy; You always have many ideas. After watching "Kids Are Not Dumb," you want a cleaver because there's a voiceover in the movie: "No matter how high your kung fu is, you still fear a cleaver."
You love music. Listening to "Place of First Love," you grin and say, "First love, such a trivial matter." Suddenly, you recall Zhang Ailing saying, "I don't like music, all music is sorrowful." You laugh, laughing at her hating music yet writing music so vividly. You think she doesn't hate music, but loves it deeply. "Alas~ Poor soul, are you deceiving yourself?"
You look out of the window, "Hey, the rain has stopped! But, the sun hasn't come out yet."