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One person, one home

Time: 2013-07-16 Source: Reprinted Edit: Read on the road : Times

Holding hands with an old age, holding hands with a firm conviction, living, not just from a beating heart and those running blood, but an attitude, which means eternal silence or a kind of Eternal and beyond. --Inscription

Some time ago, I always felt that my pressure had nowhere to vent, and I even dreamed of going out for a walk. Therefore, every weekend, I always try to keep myself busy, wash myself, and when I am bored, I will go alone.

There is a distance of about 1,000 meters from the company dormitory to the nearby shop. When I went there in the evening, I met a cleaner on the way halfway. She rode a cleaning car transformed from a bicycle. His eyes were blurred and he looked at Xiaopo in front of him struggling.

I'm not so enthusiastic, I still can't help but push forward. I have seen a lot of this situation, and they can be seen everywhere in this reinforced concrete city. Most of the time, their expressions were dull, showing a little agility in their actions, cleaning the nearby streets in a short period of time. I rarely see them smiling or talking to passersby, just guarding their work area peacefully, killing themselves with a broom, a movable iron dustpan and a cleaning car.

Maybe it was grateful, or maybe she was tired and needed a break halfway, anyway, she stopped. For some reason, she did not speak, but stared at me for a long time, after a so-called struggle, she turned her eyes elsewhere, as if something was bothering her, and it seemed nothing You can see my hair is cold and my back is cold.

So, we just looked at each other silently, sometimes looking elsewhere, thinking about our own thoughts. I've always been a young man who is more able to talk, but at this moment, I don't know how to speak. She suddenly stood up, took a few steps, and stopped again. I couldn't help thinking, maybe one of us would be scared out of neurosis. As soon as this idea came up, I desperately wanted to slip away.

"Girl, do you want to go home?" She finally spoke, with a look of panic in her eyes.

I nodded in response. At ten in the evening, the weather forecast said there was rain and the air was very humid and stuffy. However, the strange behavior of this person deeply affected my heart. In my opinion, she should have been struggling for a long time, maybe there was something to say.

"I want to go home too." She said something inexplicably, and smiled at me, showing a few yellow teeth. So I sat down beside her and watched the cars on the street gallop away from me, watching passersby glance over our heads with amazement, and from the top to our feet, across my long skirt. And high-heeled shoes, falling on her worn out work clothes and broken holes in non-fitting sneakers, to be precise, gray shoes, covered with dust.

Home? What kind of words should I be? I smiled helplessly. Since the beginning of my junior year internship, and now I am on the job, I only have the opportunity to go home once a year, each stay is less than half a month, generally Just a week.

She talked about her experience by herself. She has stayed here for nearly two decades. Her children have also started a family here, like taking root and sprouting. As for the home, it has become a distant place. The vague dreamland can no longer imagine what it looks like. She said that she did not have the courage to go back, and her children would not allow it. There are her loved ones there, and now they can't remember their looks, their voices, and everything seems to be insulated from themselves. She said that she did n’t know where to go. She was old and felt strenuous even riding a bicycle. Even if she was taken out by her children, she often could n’t figure out the direction. She said that she often lost her way. Later, her wife did n’t allow her to go out. She Persevering, she wanted to look at this place more, like a child telling a story, she talked about it, intermittently, until the sky was dark, and the dim street lights were shining on her slightly sloppy face. I advised her to go back, and she was slow He straightly stood up, looking depressed. A cool breeze blew from the quiet street, and the weather seemed more cloudy. I watched her back as she took the bicycle away, and I felt so sad that I couldn't speak.

Maybe, an age like her is still young to me, but going home is like an expedition. What she has to overcome is not only the torment in her heart every day, but also a distant place that makes her dreams.

During the time I was with her, I didn't even get in touch. I didn't know how to comfort an old man who left home, or another self who left the house. I think this must be a painful process, and also the injury that every foreign traveler must bear. The home is like a hope. We watch the direction and grow in a different place. Year after year, we forget the demise.

A ray of light, I move slowly in the misty darkness. Isn't it the rivers and lakes that I used to want to wander about? Here, isn't it the battlefield that I expected to fight day and night? Lost, and even feel lonely? The darkness ahead, is that a mountain? If I cross a distance of 3,000 kilometers and stand on the quiet rock in my hometown, is it the mother's mountain? I will be such a child, in this way At dusk, in such gloomy weather, standing like this, watching such lights, oh, I think I must not forget—cooking smoke, a warm taste that this reinforced concrete city will never have.

Another lonely night, I was thinking, how did she survive it, so many dreams, so long ...

I stood in front of the window, it was already night, and I saw that there were only a few words in my sleep—one person, one home.

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