At night, there was a torrential rain, and I vaguely remembered in my sleep that the rain was very heavy and the rain was very loud. It slammed heavily on the window, hit the leaves hard, and finally plunged into the cold earth, heroic sacrifice, and disappeared. The next day, the curtains were drawn and the sun shone outside the window. The clouds were no longer hanging their heads, the sky was no longer weeping, the ground was no longer damp, as if last night's torrential rain had never happened.
This is the experience of "forgetting a person who was once important": yesterday was a hot and vigorous day, but a dream of visiting the garden.
Most of the time, when people talk about "forgetting someone who was once important," the subtext is "how to let go of that unforgettable memory." In time and space that belongs only to them, memory is a pair of eyes that lead to the past. This is the exclusive memory of latecomers, one, two, or many, that cannot reach.
There is no kind of love that is more shameful than dominating a person's memory.
Nor is there a kind of letting go that is more torturous than forgetting someone who was once important.
But time is a heavy oil painting brush, falling on the paper, each end and the beginning of the next is a new look, the most important manuscript in the layers of superposition and filling between the heavy stone fell into the deep sea, no one knows, can not remember.
Forgetting a person who was once very important is like locking a particularly important and precious thing in a particularly important place, and then repeatedly telling yourself not to forget, only to suddenly one day not remember where this particularly important place is. After experiencing a sudden brain blankness and a moment of panic, what followed was a kick of life into a new rushing forward torrent, floating and sinking, ups and downs, and could not look back.
It's an inconspicuous sky bridge, but standing here you can see the most beautiful traffic and stars in the city at night. Here, it was his and her secret base. On this bridge, they dedicate their youth, waste time, and consume love. Many days after he left, she would still walk here unconsciously and look up at the beautiful moonlight.
A few years later, she and her fiancé walked here, and as usual, she looked at the scenery on and under the bridge. "I didn't expect there to be such a beautiful place near our house," muttered the fiancé as he looked at their future new house not far away. "I didn't expect it to be so close, I used to come often, I haven't come for a long time," she responded shallowly. She and her fiancé walked on the bridge, as if they had painted the place where he and she had walked.
As she walked down the stairs from the bridge, she kept thinking about him, but she couldn't remember his name.
That night, I received a message from her that started with "Do you remember..." and ended with "What's his name?" He was her first love, and she forgot his name. When I was about to reply and knock my name halfway through, a new message came: "Forget it, what you can't think of is unimportant." I quickly pressed the delete button and replied, "Good night!" ”
Man forgets the person who was once important, starting with forgetting his name. Then, the memories of him will slowly fall off like a mottled old wall, gradually disintegrating, until they disappear.
I used to think that the very important person would accompany him throughout his life in parallel time and space. It is impossible to imagine that the very important person would one day fly away from the heart, like a kite with a broken line, and there would be no checks and balances. How to describe this feeling of "forgetting and letting go" is probably the lightness of life that has never been seen before.
I wouldn't deliberately take a detour because I was passing by the theater where the two of them were watching a movie together for the first time, I wouldn't put away all of the author's books when I was no longer in touch because it was the author they both liked, I wouldn't change my dressing style because I remembered that we both liked to wear white T jeans with canvas shoes, and I bought a dress in a cabinet. Because I want to forget the person who was once very important, I will not deliberately avoid every detail related to him, even if it will disrupt the rhythm of my life, change my favorite style, and make the original straight line life at this moment a tortuous obstacle that needs to bypass every memory pit.
Forgetting a person who was once important is that even if one day he finds himself accidentally becoming another him, buying his favorite perfume, watching his favorite movies, eating his favorite ice cream, decorating his home as he would like, and living as lightly as he did before he met him, allowing memories to shoot like machine guns on the calm water, it still can't stir up inner waves.
The mountains and seas that I thought I would never be able to cross in my lifetime would be as easy as it was to remove a lump of ash that had fallen on the table. Not because the mountains aren't high enough, the waters aren't deep enough, the memories aren't deep enough, but because "letting go" is the answer to all the puzzles.
To forget a person who was once important was to write the name that he thought represented "love and eternity" into the list of "I don't love anymore." No superficial love can survive a long time, and the end of love is to be lost, to disappear, to never reappear.
In 2008, an earthquake that went down in history struck unforeseen, and they hugged each other in the epicenter area. The earthquake ended, and he and she were lucky enough to survive from the rubble on all sides, along with their love. Unfortunately, this strong love of life and death became unbearable and ironic after the emergence of a third party. A few years later, she spoke with great emotion to her daughter and husband about the thrilling earthquake and the thrill of escaping death, and she downplayed him. In fact, for a long time after breaking up with him at that time, she stood in the shadow of losing her lover and questioning love. In the long dark tunnel, she walked for a long, long time before she came to the demise of love.
Until I don't love anymore, the feelings that I once couldn't let go of, the feelings that I once couldn't let go of, melted like solid ice. Love is gone, no matter how important people are, naturally they can't remember and can't remember.
When he was young and crazy, he made vows to the sky and the earth to "long live love" and "friendship lasts", and gently pulled each other's little fingers to say the harsh words of "whoever forgets is a puppy". When I grew up, when my memory gradually deteriorated with age, I found that my former self, which was getting farther and farther away, looked like a dog on its back.
When the past time is yesterday, when the old love has become the past, the only people who can grasp it firmly in their hands are the present and the people in front of them. Mo Lian once, but also look at the present dynasty.