Ren Ziyou feels very sad.

by haiataovvj on 2011-09-18 20:43:34

How much longer will these days last, and how much longer will this melancholy persist? I can't take it anymore.

I once loved Liu Qiyan's words, and I once talked about him every day in my speech and writing. Yes, please forgive me for using the word "once", because now I am more used to keeping it in my heart. For what has passed, I remain silent. Whether it is said that I have become indifferent and tired of it, or that the deeper the love, the heavier the pen, I myself cannot distinguish, let alone stubbornly explain it to others? It would be a waste of words. Let time accumulate and settle. Really, it will tell me the answer.

Four hours of sleep per day makes me gradually feel that I am aging, both physically and mentally. No matter how peaceful it is, it cannot reverse this decline. I simply no longer resist letting life be desolate. It seems like self-harm, but it isn't. I just can't bear it anymore.

All things from the past are like yesterday's death, and all things from here on out are like today's birth. I don't know if I can give myself a new beginning with this one sentence, so I'm afraid to write it on the first page, just as surrendered people fear slaughter and avoid it... However, slaughter cannot be avoided, just as reality stands before me now.

Ren Ziyou is very sad. Very depressed.

It's been over a month since school started. I know that with the passage of time, I've really lost too much, and I'm losing more and more. There's no way to avoid it, no way to deceive myself. From the initial feeling of life being worse than death, to the current numbness, I don't know how long it will take for me to adapt to this city, or how long exactly. Perhaps, in the end, we will understand each other deeply. But I don't know.

Re-reading it from the beginning feels like revisiting my own disappointment. I sense the darkness in my own words and count the wounds on my heart. Like an elderly woman on the brink of death, her eyes vacant yet fixed on some point. Even if they are cloudy, they remain steadfast. As if going on a pilgrimage. Only God knows that she is just reminiscing. And then, in reminiscence, she goes. This life, not entirely perfect. Yet I, in my prime, have also grown accustomed to fixing my gaze, rewinding my thoughts... Is this not also a sign, from another perspective, that I am truly getting old?

Ren Ziyou is very sad. Very sorrowful.

My phone has almost become my lifeline. QQ, tofu skin recipes, internet surfing, forums, novels - I immerse myself in illusion, far from reality, seemingly enlightened but actually mad. Refusing to accept what I do not want to accept, closing my eyes and pretending not to see what I do not wish to see, telling myself that the world is still the same as yesterday, right and wrong are only illusions... In the end, it's all self-deception. In the end, I need to open my eyes.

Yesterday was the Chongyang Festival. But with the moon present and no wine, the moon is not a true moon; with the number nine present but no family, the festival is not a true festival.

At first, I thought I could use my own writing to mourn the passage of time. Now I realize it was all just babbling. My writing, besides staining paper, what other function does it serve? How can it possibly mourn time or paint over years? It was me who was arrogant in the past.

I have nothing left but to idle away my time.

I always wonder if Yue Opera divided my heart from Qi. But now when I think of Yue tunes, all I hear in my ears is one phrase: when feelings reach their deepest point, pain doesn't need to be expressed; when feelings reach their end, what enlightenment is there to seek? On your side, spring chases dreams onto new willows; on my side, memories are painful to recall. Yes, afraid to recall. A poem says, if Xi Shi understood how to bring down the state of Wu, then whose fault was it when Yue fell? It's well said. If Yue Opera made me forget the white-clad scholar among the books, then what is this splendid chapter now but water under the bridge? All because of me, solely because of me.