The old teapot has accompanied me through the years of my life, and the scars on it record decades of stumbles

There was wind outside the window, it was very large, and it was whistling; There is a moon in the sky, very round, shining brightly. Winter nights in the north are so wonderful and amorous. The fierceness of the wind and the gentleness of the moon stir the heart into a cup of strong hot coffee. The ability to speak weakens into a watery vapor, ethereal and slightly bitter. The feeling of existence is like a guqin on the bank of the empty valley stream, and the rhythm of life turns into a lonely moon and long wind, gently plucking the lonely silk strings, and slowly flowing out the vast and ethereal thousand-year remnants.

However, I don’t have coffee. There was only a lonely old teapot that sat silently with me for a long night. The scars on the cylinder are rough and solemn, like eyes filled with bitter water, telling the vicissitudes of time, reminiscent of the line of not hazy poetry written by the hazy poet – “The night gave me a pair of black eyes, but I used it to find light.” ”

Every night like this, when you don’t want to be disturbed by other sounds, put a few green teas in the old teapot and fill it with hot water. When the silent cabin is filled with the smell of tea, there is an urge to talk to the teapot. Of course, it was a wordless conversation, without verbal intervention, like a pair of long-time friends drinking at the table. Move the glass, pass a look, and you will understand everything. In such an emotional atmosphere, the functions of expression and confession undertaken by language have all lost their meaning, and speaking has completely become a matter of painting.

So, holding the warm teapot in his hand, his fingertips involuntarily moved gently on the teapot, looking for a few scars with the texture of old bark, and then savoring the feeling of fingertips and scars rubbing each other. The stories in life that cannot be forgotten, or cannot be forgotten, are accompanied by the fragrance of tea, and they float away like dreams.

In the fall of the eighteenth year, he went on his first trip. My father bought me this white and glossy enamel teapot at the station. Since then, it has followed me. I didn’t expect this to be decades.

After four years of college life, the teapot was filled with the dreams of my youth and the slightly sad romance. In the fall of my sophomore year, one night when the cold rain knocked on the window, I saw off the girl who was about to cross Fuso, and I sat silent for a long time, and she said, “Can you go with me?” “I shook my head, very decisively.” When the cylinder head in the girl’s hand fell to the ground, my teapot had its first scar.

The best campus life of my life is over, take off the bells and whistles of student clothes, and curb the impassioned book business spirit. Sitting in the office of the unit, wearing a Zhongshan suit that does not show any personality. Holding the glazed enamel jar in his hand, he looked like an old man and a city man. At this time, the enamel jar became a prop, and I on the stage entered the play while feeling good about myself.

However, when they are tired, they deliberately converge the spiritual spirits in their hearts, often leading life to an island in the ocean, and the noisy waves make life feel more lonely and helpless. Every night came, when the world gradually fell silent, I suddenly found that I had nothing but the teapot in my hand. So, gently bring the teapot to the chapped lips. At this time, I heard the clanging sound of the rim of the cylinder touching my teeth, this crisp and transparent sound seemed to come from a distant paradise, and like the sound of a clear spring flowing from the bottom of my heart. Raising his head slightly, the teapot in his hand slowly tilted, and his thirsty throat had a trickle, very sweet; Savor it, like wine, very mellow; Taste it again, like a cup of strong coffee, very bitter; Also, there are many indescribable tastes. When I woke up in my dream, the teapot had fallen to the ground. It had a few more scars on its body.

Later, I got sick. Later, a pair of eyes died. The dark iron curtain fell to the ground, and life was cut in half. In the panic, there was another series of crisp sounds, and the crazy hand knocked the teapot on the table to the ground, and the rolling cylinder head made a series of leisurely sounds, kind and gentle, as if to say to me: “Don’t be afraid, with me, I will accompany you through the long night.” “Slowly squatting down, I fumbled to pick up the teapot from the ground and hold it in my hand, the warm tea juice oozed from between my hands, and then dripped, one drop, two drops…

A few days ago, the eldest sister in the countryside came to see me, she put a brand new teapot in front of me, she complained to me: “Look at your broken teapot, what has been knocked into, and I am reluctant to throw it away…” Yes, how did a good enamel teapot become like this? When I think about it, it feels natural. Decades of ups and downs, stumbling, how can there be a reason not to get hurt? It would be inconceivable if it hadn’t been hit in the slightest. It’s just that some of those scars are clearly explained, some are unspeakable, and there is no reason. Life, in general, is the same, after walking a lifetime, if there are few scars, who will bear witness for me!

There was wind outside the window, it was very large, and it was whistling; There is a moon in the sky, very round, shining brightly. Winter nights in the north are so wonderful and amorous. The fierceness of the wind and the gentleness of the moon stir the heart into a cup of strong hot coffee. However, I have no coffee, only a lonely old teapot with a cup of life tea…

About author:LI Donghui

About author:Li Donghui, shortly after graduating from university, became blind due to illness, and then began literary creation, publishing more than 300 novels and essays, with more than 100,000 words. Published two personal collections. He has won the second prize of the first China Outstanding Literature Award for the Blind, the first prize of the Hebei Province Prose Competition, the second prize of the first “Haoran Literature Award”, the “Langfang Literary and Art Prosperity Award” four times, a member of the China Writers Association, and a member of the Chinese Prose Literature Society.

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