The story of Muzi

"The quiet flower beds are full of smiling sunflowers, and in the middle of the flower beds is a small glass house where my painter and I live. During the day, I write poems and paint, and at night we sit on the roof together and watch the stars, so that I live forever in happiness, guarding our flower beds, guarding our dreams, until we are old..."

Muzi, do you remember these words that you used to tell me? You say it's your dream and one day it will come true.

Muzi is a year older than me and is the same table I used to be. Muzi is a handsome man with a poetic temperament, who always likes to write some flowing and poignant poems. She sometimes shows me her poems, I can't understand them, I just think they are beautiful and ethereal, I ask her what she wants to express, but she says "the more realistic the beautiful things, the more vulgar they are." I didn't ask again, but thought in my heart, "Muzi's world is too profound, her soul has lived outside of reality, and I hope that her future will be as beautiful as her poetry." ”

The time at the same table with Muzi is happy, we paint the present together, fantasize about the future together, and outline the lines of dreams with the brush of youth. But gradually, I noticed that Muzi had changed, and she began to spend a lot of money and began to wear some beautiful clothes that made us distance. She let go of her once playful ponytail and picked up a few handfuls of rose-colored hair. What I couldn't believe most was that she stopped writing poetry and gave the phone the keyboard of her phone the time she had spent writing.

Finally one day, I couldn't help but ask her, "Muzi, why don't you write poetry?" ”

She brushed aside the bangs that covered her eyes and said to me, "The poet has been abandoned by inspiration." ”

In this way, Muzi and I were like two trains starting from the same station and heading in the opposite direction, getting farther and farther away, and gradually disappearing into each other's vision.

Until one day Kiko said to me, "I'm pregnant." ”

Her tone was so calm that I was scared, she was only 15 years old! She hasn't found her painter yet! I was silent for a long time, trying to say something but stopping.

She said "I'll go with him and he'll give me happiness." ”

My heart ached, and after a long silence, I almost cried and shouted, "As your best friend, I have the right to do all this, and you have to make things clear to me!" ”

From Muzi's mouth, I vaguely learned that the "he" she was talking about was a married man in her 30s, whom she met online, and happened to be from the same city, and they began this wrong story after the first meeting. She said "he" was nice to her, said he could give her happiness and that he could abandon his family for her. "He" had a lot of money to satisfy any of her needs, and for the beautiful things that he had once only wanted through the window, "he" could give her.

I knew Muzi needed money. Muzi's family is very ordinary, and she can't dress herself up like a fresh strawberry like any other girl. She had said that she also wanted to be a princess, and she wanted the envious eyes of those who passed by.

I know that Muzi's heart is lonely. His father worked outside the home, his mother painstakingly ran a small shop, and Muzi lacked the love of his parents. Muzi's personality is very withdrawn, and she seems to have a kind of arrogant temperament that is universal, and she has no friends except me. She had scorched her loneliness and melted tears into words, but now she used her youth to shape a happiness before destruction.

I knew I knew, but I couldn't believe that the once proud poet had fallen like this meteor, into the dirty muddy water, and shattered his dream.

Just like that, Muzi was gone, and she didn't take anything with her except my series of question marks.

Muzi's mobile phone changed numbers, I couldn't call her house, it was her mother who answered, I am sorry that I touched the poor mother's scar again. She said that Muzi bought a house with her "he" in a foreign country, and Muzi beat up the child at the advice of "him" and now lives a prosperous but sad life. Kiko occasionally called her mother, but hung up without saying a few words. Muzi's mother's account often has money remitted from the same account, she knows that her daughter sent it, she did not move a penny, she said that her daughter is still young, her daughter is not confused, she believes that her daughter will come back, the money is left to return to others.

Since that day's departure, Muzi has never contacted me, is it guilt or oblivion?

I still remember the smiling sunflowers, the bright glass house, the pure love painter, all in their dreams waiting for the return of the poet...