Thick clouds spread out in the vast sky, and the basic hue of dark gray blocked the rays of the sun from 150 million kilometers away. If the distance between me and the sun was only 2.5 kilometers, then the coming pain made my body closely connected with the ground.

As the rain pattered down, the pitch was alternately silent and a scream or two erupted. During the flight of the football, I watched as the rotating arc of Buddha was reduced by low air pressure, and the rain hit the magnetic resonance of the ball was angrily bounced off. My instinct was to jump up and grab “ah…” I heard exclaims and gasps. I felt my body fall to the ground quickly after being hit hard by someone on the waist. At that time, my first thought was whether the “lower body happiness” which had not been fully released could continue. The ensuing fear made me dare not turn over and even take care to breathe. During this process, I tried to interact with him, and my little brother nodded mischievously. Finally, I could breathe a long sigh of relief and was carried off the court at ease.

Yeah, I’m a third of the way through my life. This age is a reference to the old reporter in Memoria de mis putas tristes who is looking for a virgin to complete the rite of passage on her 90th birthday.

Recalling his life of less than thirty years, every fragment I want to recall can clearly emerge in front of me. As you know, human instinct is to seek advantage and avoid harm. Although the pain of being punched by my father as a child still seems to manifest itself in the form of muscle spasms when I make mistakes, I prefer to believe that this is muscle memory rather than mental memory. After all, such an ugly past is, in my opinion, of no value to the stability of the father-son relationship today.

Reading Borges a few days ago, there was an interesting passage that got me thinking.

He said that if one can only remember the future, but not the past…

If this hypothesis is true, there are some very interesting phenomena, the most important of which is that you will know where the end of life is. You will remember the people around you at the end of your life, what they said, and even the cold tears across your cheeks… Along with time’s ruthless swallow, our memories will be less and less (because set time is forward flow, then memory is backward). And when that day comes, we’ll all be forgotten after the last tear falls. The results didn’t look any different than they do now.

I don’t think Marquez’s old reporter would have done it if he had known he was going to find his last love by calling the brothel madam.

A man who has had sex with over 500 people, on a twilight afternoon. He lay down on the chair and exerted an initial force, in which the chair seemed to find exactly the fulcrum and dance for it. The huge cigarette was squeezed between the old man’s index finger and thumb. The lines on the back of the fingers did not increase much compared with those at birth, but time only increased the depth of those lines in terms of dimension.

“If you can’t get love, then all sex leaves you is comfort.” “The pedant in the madam’s eyes said to himself as he breathed a puff of smoke.

But when love comes, sex has quietly left.

At 30, I can’t remember exactly what those sticky evenings brought me. The euphoria of the moment has been gone for so long that the warmth that followed the passion seems to be a narrative of something that had happened to someone else in the previous century. After enjoying God’s fleeting pleasure at an age without knowing love, and approaching the supreme God in one outburst after another…

Suddenly, I was caught off guard by emptiness and sadness.

One day, time passes.

Similar to Memoria de mis putas tristes, Love in the Time of Cholera is a much-praised “love of the century” that has moved countless people. The moment the two old men undressed, I saw cruelty, not romance. Marquez endowed the old man with love that transcends time and space and transcends irreverence. But far from being a paean to love, it seems to me to be a deep fear of death.

The sun crept lightly onto my face through the gap in the curtain, and the back injury of 60 years ago has been torturing me not to get up hard when I wake up in the morning. You ask me who I am, how old I am, I don’t know. Who has been in my life, what they have brought to us, and where they will go I have no idea… I still have a year left in my memory. I knew that day came at a quarter past four in the morning. I didn’t tell anyone because I couldn’t remember anyone.

I tried to remember the women I had been in love with, that or astringent or mature body, their warm body seems to be able to melt everything. But my efforts didn’t help, just like you don’t know which leg you’re going to take first out the door tomorrow.

Sex had not aroused any interest in me, and I lay calm in bed.

It suddenly occurred to me that there had been such a person, such a woman. She will be my wife and hold my hand tightly through my life.

She was dressed in a white wedding dress, her arm straddling my father’s arms slowly coming to me… The guests clap their hands to the rhythm of the March of love, and the colorful balloons hanging from the roof form complete hearts in perfect arcs. This is the girl I love, this is the woman I will spend my life with. We would cross the same space and time under different rays of the sun and wake each other up with a kiss every sunny or rainy morning.

Over the years we have traveled together to every corner of the world, including Marquez’s Caribbean. We tasted the most delicious food in the world… One of them will be the wonderful Macaron on the Champs-Elysees, on the way from Louis Vuitton to the Place de la Concorde… It was as if her smiling face in her twenties had been on her lips forever. Now I know she only smiled like that when she saw me…

In July of the Leonid meteor shower, the light is like diamonds scattered around the world, like the spots between the wrinkles of the wife that never fade away. Has time taught us what love is? Or is love costing us time we thought we would never have?

As I close my eyes and plunge into eternity, my mind struggles to sleep…

I will understand, the original defeat me is not time, but love.