Long gone. Been here for two years.

In the past two years, I have learned how easy it is to be a gangster.

Yesterday's dream also reminded me of the disappointment I felt when I first entered this school. At that time, I would break into a cold sweat even when I saw the sign at the school gate, thinking that no matter what I did, I would never get into such a crappy school.

But really, that sign is right in front of me.

I remember that when I was in junior high school, when I had nothing to do, I would go to the literary club tutor and discuss literature with him. Later, he thought that I was obsessed with literature, so he accepted me as his disciple.

One of my essays was published in the essay newspaper, which made me famous in the school.

People always call me a writer when they meet me. I really thought that I was a writer, and I couldn't bear to write my name in my exercise book. I thought that if a teacher had the idea to hide this signature, he would send it out in the future.

My dream of being a writer was out of control. I wanted to publish a book, join the Writers Association, and win the Mao Dun Literary Award or the Newton Literary Award.

When I go to a bookstore on weekdays and tell my name, the waiter is so frightened that he foams at the mouth and bursts into tears.

After that, I wrote thirty or forty essays, but none of them were published.

I know that philosophers call it the winter of life, but my winter was too long.

No one in the new school reads the newspaper.

Yesterday I woke up from a dream and turned over. Unexpectedly, the lower bunk hadn't gone to Siberia yet, and should be at the border of Mongolia and Russia. I immediately returned to China and cursed.

This scolding caused most of the people in our dormitory to return home.

So, we discussed which girl in the class was the best and most girly.

I also remembered that the first time I slept here and listened to their conversation, I thought how vulgar those people were, and then I read Gogol’s articles alone with a flashlight.

The guy on the bottom bunk scolded me when I turned over. He found me reading a book that day and climbed into my bed.

I thought a like-minded person had arrived, but I didn't want him to get straight to the point and ask if it was a pornographic book.

Later, I actually talked happily with them, and even felt how hypocritical I was before, as if I really thought I wanted to devote myself to literature.

Wang Meng is not telling us not to pursue literature. Of course, if you want to lose weight, you might as well pursue it.

I don’t want to become famous anymore. As for starting a family, it depends on which girl is willing to do it.

So, you have to become famous first, and then other girls will desperately want to take advantage of you, so that they can start a family again.

I have no name, no home, and only a pair of rags that never change.

However, there are exceptions, such as the macho man, who has not become famous, but is about to start a family.

The macho man's girlfriend is Ying, and they are so good at each other that they even eat from the same bowl.

Ying is a rare good girl in this school, very well-educated, unlike other girls who are fierce and powerful, and can kill someone with an unexpected slap.

Ying is definitely the kind of girl who is fragile and needs someone to protect her, while the macho man is exactly the kind of strong boy who works out every day to gain strength and strength, and even practices to the point where he has an extra abdominal muscle inexplicably than an ordinary person. He is so strong that a girl can't even be slapped to death.

I once chased Ying.

When I chased her, I had just entered school, and I felt a strong sense of emptiness. Subconsciously, I felt that Ying could fill the emptiness better than the rice in school.

I wait for her every day just to say a word to her.

Although I long for the artistic conception of having a heart-to-heart talk on a long path, our school is too small, and the distance from the teaching building to the dormitory is basically the same as the distance between the men's and women's toilet doors in a large school.

In three steps, I will send the Buddha to the west.

I had to write what I wanted to say in a letter.

A set of stationery costs one-fortieth of my monthly living expenses, but for spiritual happiness, I have to give up material comfort.

On a sunny day, I gave this love poem to Ying: Whenever I hear the sound of rain again, I feel like I hear the confusion in my heart. I once insisted on my dream, but it was not a sigh in the years. There are too many sighs.

So I want to have a memory. Don't tell me that you have left a long time ago. Because I still have three words that I have not spoken. These three words are only reserved for you. I am very satisfied with this love poem.

Looking at the whole article, suppressing the desire before expressing it is an advanced writing technique.

I confidently handed the poem to Ying, thinking that my only regret was that God was not kind to her.

People in love are like this. They look forward to raining every day if they have nothing to do. The rain should not be too heavy, so that the umbrella cannot be held;

The amount of rainfall should be moderate, so you won’t die of lung disease even if you take a shower.

It goes without saying that you know the three words I left for Ying.

I was wondering what Ying's reaction would be. Unexpectedly, Ying's reaction was huge. I gave her three words, and she doubled back and gave me six words: "It's impossible for us."