The Birth and Reincarnation of Rock Poetry > What do you write?

Text ◎ A Xin

In the misty morning light, I crossed the Huanggang River and walked vaguely up the hill of Wenquan Road. The town woke up, and the whispers of neighbors and the sound of life gently bumped into the air, which also woke me up. Always when I start to feel the weight of my schoolbag, I can see a small school gate, which is my school.

I arrived early, but she arrived earlier than me. In the corridor of the teaching building in the distance, there is a figure in a white shirt, just like a white-haired god. I know, she is waiting for me. Walking through the playground, the hall, the stairs, turning a corner, I saw a tiny but lovely smile blooming. We picked a corridor dyed pale yellow by the sun and leaned against the railing without saying a word.

When there is wind, it is actually very suitable for silence, because the wind can blow the sound of the city, and you can also smell the smell of the city, fried dough sticks, zebra crossings, rust, soap and buses. We have plenty of time to blow and fill up. No one will come to school on Sunday. We have plenty of time. However, it is May, and as we all know, the so-called time is actually running out.

That year, The Legend of Salda was the last Nintendo game we played. Lonely Salda roamed the huge map, stabbing the occasional lonely monster with a short and funny sword.

Before the winter vacation was over, she completely collapsed, because all the time, she was preparing to deal with another terrible shapeless monster in our life.

Satisfied with the wind, we studied in the school library all day. In August, the list was released. We went back to school and looked at the red list in the hall. We won the game, and we were all admitted to our first choice. In September, we started a new life in different schools. Then, we finally lost contact.

It was another big exam, and I finally received her letter again. Four years later, in the classroom, cicadas in summer are deafening. "In fact, at that time, if you ..." I read her letter to me and thought about what we had and lost. It suddenly occurred to me that maybe we have never won this game. Lonely Salda killed all monsters and demons, but missed the humble treasure chest in the map. I quietly imagined that there was a story sleeping in the treasure chest that we should probably experience and appreciate.

Imagine that we escaped from that library and fled to the ends of the earth; Imagine that I bravely kissed her and she resolutely accepted it. Imagine that we share freedom, life and headphones. Imagine that we drink a glass of juice together and live a completely different life from now on ... we were born in the flesh and blood of imprisonment, grew up in the sad battle, and lost each other in the flow of time. I am leafing through the thick classics, releasing the lead ink that once overwhelmed me and turning them into poetry. May those unfulfilled dreams be reborn in the most gorgeous and decadent fantasies.